


Dance with the Devil

by Greyias



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Action, Angst, Dark Side Death Cults are fun! No wait they're not..., F/M, Fever Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-KotFE, Pre-KOTET, Unreliable Narrator, but things got a little out of hand, this was supposed to be short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-12-30 01:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyias/pseuds/Greyias
Summary: Theron decides to do a little investigating off the books -- and gets in way over his head.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally meant for this to be a short little H/C romp, like maybe 3000 words, but, uh, things spiraled out of control a little. The title comes from a line from the song "Ocean Drive" by Duke Dumont, which I first heard not too long after first starting this. The lyrics as well as the sense of foreboding are probably responsible for things getting much darker than planned.

Growing up under the tutelage of Jedi Master Nagani Zho, Theron Shan had been taught an enumerable number of lessons so that he could one day continue the family tradition with a lightsaber of his own. Things hadn’t quite worked out that way, because apparently when it came to him, the Force had a sense of humor. However, the lessons didn’t go to waste, and Theron wound up using most of them throughout his career with the SIS. Sadly, these days the lesson that got employed the most was one adapted from a Jedi healing ritual. It didn’t heal his wounds, but the series of mental exercises usually helped dull the pain until he could get proper medical attention. Unfortunately, even that trick was starting to get played out at the moment.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on acknowledging the ragged, burning fire in his side so that he could _accept_ the pain and move beyond it so he could try and focus back on his current predicament. He didn’t normally have this much trouble with such a simple exercise, but the combination of possibly broken ribs, numerous bruises and contusions, and the giant hole in his side that was still bleeding sluggishly was testing the limits of his childhood training. Not to mention that the drugs they kept injecting him with to try and make him a bit more talkative weren't helping matters. His implants were dealing with the worst of it, but it was still affecting his overall concentration. Concentration that he really needed if he was ever going to get out of here.

He flexed his arms against his bonds, but he was no closer to escaping now than he had when he’d first woken up in this dingy warehouse three days ago. The stale air and lingering stench of pollution had let him know that he was still on Skeressa, but that was about the most positive thing about the entire situation. 

He’d arrived on the planet almost a week ago to follow up on a supposed sighting of Arcann and Senya, one of the many the Alliance’s intelligence network had been sorting through since the Battle of Odessen. Theron had taken this one on personally, not because he thought this particular lead would pan out, but more because of some interesting whispers he had heard about a cloister of fanatics that had holed up here. The sighting had turned out to be another false lead, but there had still been some viability into this splinter cell of Sith led by Lord Dirai, who specialized in Force spirits.

Not that he had _told_ anyone back on Odessen about the particulars of his little side trip, just that he was looking into one final lead before wrapping everything up. The investigation into Force spirits and possessions was a pet project of his, and he hadn’t brought anyone else from the Alliance in on it yet. If he had his way he probably wouldn’t unless he absolutely had to. There were a lot of very personal reasons for that, but to tell half of them would betray the confidence of probably the most important person in Theron’s life, and the one he was doing this all for in the first place. There was no amount of torture in the galaxy that would get him to do that.

And really that was part of his current predicament. By all intents and purposes he should have been killed several days ago, but he _had_ decided to spy on a cult so crazy the Empire had kicked them out of its territory completely. That probably should have been his first clue to leave it alone, but common sense and good judgement weren’t tools he always employed, especially when it came to the commander of the Alliance. So he had ignored that warning sign, and had probably failed to do his due diligence on investigating the plausibility of this lead. The possibility of finding any scrap of information that could help him find a way to pry that Sith parasite out of his girlfriend’s head was just too tempting to ignore.

Which was how three days ago he had found himself shackled to an interrogation table and staring down an increasingly unhinged Sith raving about the Force and getting progressively more violent.

“It flows,” Dirai had started at a whisper, “around everything. Even a Force blind fool such as yourself.”

Maybe a few years ago a comment like that would have been like rubbing salt into an open wound, but the sting of Theron’s shattered childhood ambitions had eased considerably after the formation of the Alliance. Still, there was a part of him that bristled at the insult, although there was no way the Sith could have known it was a sore subject.

“Usually it’s soft, hardly noticeable to anything but my trained eye,” the cultist continued to stalk around his bound prey, balancing a vibroblade on his palm delicately, “but you… someone’s left their mark on you.”

Theron’s training had helped him keep a passive face even as a cold feeling of dread had wound its way around his spine at the words. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Force doesn’t flow through you like a Sith or Jedi,” the man continued as if he didn’t hear the denial, “but it wraps around you, almost blinding in its _light_.”

Dirai spat at the last word, as if it were some impurity to be cleansed. 

“You haven’t been cavorting about with some mere Jedi, though, have you?” Theron just glared as the Sith pacing quickened, his actions becoming more frenetic. “There’s darkness there, tendrils weaving through the cracks in the light, like a snake slowly coiling around its prey.”

It was hard to tell if Dirai actually had the talent he spoke of, or if he was that drunk on his own madness. Either way, Theron tried to keep his face impassive, even as the words conjured an all-too-familiar freckled face and the malevolent specter that haunted her every step. The frenetic pacing had given way to practically a drunken trample, each footfall echoing loudly across the filthy duracrete flooring.

“I’ve felt that dark presence before.” The Sith’s fingers curled around the hilt of the vibroblade as he speared Theron with an almost predatory look. “He consumes everything, just as he’s slowly consuming your… hmm, exactly who is this to you?”

“An invention of your mad ravings.”

“More than a mere acquaintance, I can tell that much.” Dirai idly traced the tip of the vibroblade across his captive’s cheek. “Friend? Family? _Lover_?”

The nerve in Theron’s jaw twitched as the electricity bouncing off the vibroblade touched his skin and sent a light jolt down his spine.

“I suppose it does not matter really. Clearly you are of some importance to whoever this new vessel is. Otherwise you wouldn’t stink of them as you do.”

Blood pounded in Theron’s ears, but he did his best to not let the red tinge of anger sweep over him. He didn’t want to give any leverage to the other man, but the image of Valkorion consuming his host whole caused a knot of cold dread to settle in the pit of Theron’s stomach. It was difficult to keep a neutral expression while imagining that nightmare scenario, but he thought he had done an admirable job of that.

That was until the Sith leaned in close, fetid breath assaulting his senses, voice barely a whisper in his ear. “I would _so_ love to meet this person. Perhaps you can arrange something.”

“I’m not doing anything for you.”

“Oh, that’s cute. You think you have a choice in the matter.” A gloved hand came up to caress Theron’s face, fingers tracing a path along his implants. “This connection you share with the host, how deep does it run? Are they even aware of it?”

He tried to jerk his head away at that point, but Dirai grabbed a handful of his hair, holding him in place. The man was too close for Theron to see his smile, but he could feel as the lips hovering millimeters from his ear twisted into a sadistic grin.

“And if they are, I wonder… can they feel your pain?”

And before Theron had any time to react, the vibroblade had plunged into his side sending any and all thoughts into a white hot blaze of agony.

The rest of his time with his host had been mostly a repeat of that theme. Demands for the identity of Vitiate’s new host (he apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about the name change). When talking didn’t work, Dirai would try and loosen Theron’s tongue with drugs, or more often just good old fashioned violence. Every now and then he would demand for Theron to just make her appear, as if he had the ability to summon her to his side if he just _wanted_ it enough (a super power that would definitely have come in handy on more than one occasion over the past six years). All this was usually followed by half hearted attempts at healing in between sessions when anger at Theron’s stubborn refusal to say or acknowledge anything nearly pushed things too far.

He had never quite gotten used to the strange, cold sensation he associated with the healing arts from the Dark Side of the Force. Even when Lana, an actual friend, performed the techniques he was usually covered in a cold sweat and slightly nauseated by the time she was done. Dirai had neither caution nor care to spare for his captive, his only goal to keep him alive long enough to locate his former Emperor, which left Theron fighting vertigo and bile from an empty stomach.

Thankfully the last “healing” attempt had been a few hours ago, and Theron had been left to his own devices for what was probably the longest stretch of time so far. Maybe Dirai was taking a nap or something. Torture was hard work after all.

Theron continued to try and find some way to disable the cuffs shackling him into place. His extended time in the Sith’s questionable care had drained him, but he wasn’t ready to roll over and die yet. He was already long overdue back on Odessen, and crazy or not, Dirai was right about one thing. It wouldn’t be long before someone came looking for their wayward intelligence officer. 

A few years ago that thought wouldn’t have occurred to him, and it certainly wouldn’t have filled him with a numb sense of panic. It was one thing for Theron to get himself into these perilous situations, it was a far different one for him to be the cause of someone else having to go through this. A therapist would probably have a field day with him, but he shoved that thought aside too. The damn drugs were definitely affecting him, as his long rambling monologue proved he was having a hard time focusing on his task.

Which was escaping. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. He had freed himself from a Revanite compound with less than he was currently working with, this shouldn’t be that difficult. He just needed to _concentrate_.

There was nothing tucked in his glove that he could use to pick the lock. Dislocating his wrist wouldn’t work; he’d already tried that but the cuffs were too tight. There was an electronic component to them, but his slicer spike had been tossed unceremoniously on his jacket, which was collecting grime and dirt a few meters away. That only left him with a belt he couldn’t reach, as well as his boots, and… his _bracers_. 

Of course. 

The idiots hadn’t thought to pull those off him. If he just contorted his wrists enough, perhaps he could aim the firing mechanism at the release for the cuffs. There wouldn’t be enough brute force behind the shot to jimmy it open, but there was a chance the electrodart could scramble the lock enough to release.

He twisted as best he could, the movement sending a fresh flare of pain up his side. He breathed through it, willing himself to focus on the singular task at hand. He contorted his neck painfully, trying to get a good vantage point. The inventory in his bracers was limited, so he needed to make the shot count. 

Focusing past all of the distractions, he carefully took aim and muttered, “Toxicity seven.”

The tiny dart shot out, hitting the locking mechanism dead on. Electricity arced across the dart through the metal of the cuffs. Thankfully his gloves insulated him from the jolt, as he’d had enough of that over the course of this week courtesy of Dirai. The electronics on the lock audibly sizzled before the pressure around his wrist loosened and the cuff popped open. 

Theron flexed his fingers, trying to get the digits working again after being cramped for so many days in a row. He reached over to the lock on his other wrist, fingers tracing the seam as he weighed the chances of being able to repeat his brilliant maneuver when the ground shuddered, and his thoughts were drowned out by an explosion ripping through some other part of the building.

“Oh hell,” he muttered to himself, fingers scrabbling across the lock.

If there was one thing the past few days had taught Theron, it was that his host wasn’t exactly fond of visitors and even worse at controlling his anger. If that explosion wasn’t the start of a very bombastic rescue operation, things were about to turn very ugly. His fingers continued to clumsily try and find some seam to work the lock, but weren't finding any purchase on the smooth metal.

Another explosion rocked the building. This time the table Theron was cuffed to lurched and wobbled unsteadily, and flung his free arm around loosely. If he hadn’t been strapped in he would likely have been thrown to the ground. Perhaps he had been on the receiving end of Force lightning too many times this week, but he could have sworn he heard a whoop of triumph in the rumbling echoes of the explosion.

The door leading out of the warehouse was flung open, and Dirai stalked in, anger practically radiating off him in waves. The Sith’s entire attention focused on the captive currently trying to escape, which caused his face to twist in fury. He crossed the room in a few short strides, yellow eyes narrowing in murderous intent. 

As Dirai closed the distance between them, it was apparent there was no way Theron could finish his escape — but he didn’t let little details like reality stop him. As soon as Dirai was in range, he let his fist fly. Even if he were at his full-strength and on even footing there was no way it was going to do any _real_ damage to the Sith Lord, but that was no reason not _try_.

Dirai caught the incoming fist easily, lips twisting up into a sadistic grin as he slowly and painfully twisted Theron’s wrist. He refused to give the Sith the satisfaction of crying out.

“So much energy wasted on bravado,” malice dripped from Dirai’s voice, “and in the end what does it get you?”

“Well, it pisses you off,” Theron gritted out, “which is at least something.”

“Something unwise,” the Sith growled.

There was a hiss of a lightsaber being activated, hot red light shooting up and forming the thin searing blade a few inches from Theron’s face. He could feel the heat radiating from the plasma beam, and tried to lean back as far as he could. 

The red light from the saber lit up Dirai’s face, highlighting every crack, scar, and blister from a lifetime of violence and corruption from the Dark Side of the Force. “You’ve outlived your usefulness, worm.”


	2. Chapter 2

The Sith pulled the saber back and then cleaved it down in a violent arc. Instinctively Theron shut his eyes, but instead of the searing pain of the fatal blow, the saber’s angry hum sputtered out into an unruly crash. He cracked open an eye and watched as Dirai tried to swing the blade again, but red sparks bounced off of a wall of blue light mere inches from Theron’s face. 

For a moment, both of their anger and adrenaline were dulled with confusion, each staring at the other with a puzzled look as if they knew what was happening. Then Dirai’s confusion melted away as he narrowed his eyes and suspiciously looked up at the ceiling in one sharp movement. Theron frowned, following his gaze just as the dirty skylight exploded into a thousand pieces.

He ducked his head, clamping his eyes shut as a million shards of permaglass rained down them. The tiny shards bounced off the invisible barrier around him, but Dirai had to use his hands to shield himself from the raining debris. A small blonde figure landed in the midst of the chaos, gracefully landing on one knee and balancing herself with one hand, while the other was held up in Theron’s direction as if she were holding up something just in front of him.

She stood, cape billowing behind her as the wind blew in through the now open gap in the ceiling. The Jedi’s face was set in a grim expression, but he could see a few beads of sweat on her forehead as she fought to maintain the Force barrier she had erected to protect Theron from Dirai’s lightsaber. Her eyes were on her opponent, free hand appearing to hang loosely at her side, but Theron could see from the firm set of her jaw that she was resisting grabbing one of the lightsabers clipped to her belt.

Dirai staggered back from his captive with a snarl, sending the shards of glass flying in every direction like a kath hound shaking water from his fur. A few tiny sharp pieces bounced off the barrier, and despite the still ever-present danger of disembowelment via lightsaber, a flare of warmth lit inside of Theron’s gut as he realized that she was here for just one reason — him.

Dirai seemingly forgot about the captured spy, turning towards the newcomer, still-ignited lightsaber swinging carelessly at his side. “Ah, and here I was thinking you would never come.”

The flare of warmth was quickly doused by a cold sensation as Theron watched the Sith stalk his new prey, wondering exactly how much truth there was to his earlier ramblings if he could recognize her so immediately. He swallowed, glancing past the large man to the diminutive woman assessing the situation with a seeming calm. A slight twitch to her fingers betrayed that thin veneer, revealing the emotions she was trying to keep from bubbling to the surface.

“This man is a member of the Alliance,” she said calmly, eyes not straying from Dirai, “and as its commander, I do not take kindly to my people being detained in such a manner.”

That was such a polite way of phrasing the past few days, but leave it to Greyias Highwind to understate the situation so thoroughly while still cutting a figure of authority. Her cape fluttered behind her, wind teasing the loose bangs that hung into her eyes as she stared down the Sith looming over her.

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?”

“Step away from him. Now.” The steel in her voice brooked no argument.

“I’ve been looking so forward to meeting you,” Dirai practically purred, “Commander is it?”

“If you put your lightsaber away, we can speak more freely.” 

A cold prickle of dread worked its way down Theron’s spine. The cultist had never said exactly what he wanted with the Alliance commander, just his maddened quest to meet with her. Or rather, with the Force ghost taking up residence in her head. Theron tried to catch her eye in some vain hope of communicating this, but her attention was divided between maintaining the protective shield around Theron and sizing up her opponent. Another bead of sweat had joined the others on her brow, trickling down her temple in a thin line.

“Commander, he’s—“

“Quiet, worm,” Dirai snarled, pointing his saber back in the direction of his captive, “your betters are speaking.”

The moment his saber had moved, she was already in motion. The hand hanging at her side drew the saber and ignited it in one swift motion. In the blink of an eye she had crossed the gap between herself and the two men, dark purple blade clashing with Dirai’s and deflecting it away from his captive. The blue shimmer surrounding Theron disappeared, and he felt a few of the shards of permaglass that hadn’t bounced away land in his hair gently.

“You will not lay another hand on him,” she said firmly, an undercurrent of emotion threading through her tone that Theron had only heard once before.

That time he had heard it over a sliced comm channel on Rishi, as she had stared down his ancestor that had been holding him captive and threatened to literally tear the Revanite base apart to find him. It was an anger brought on by panic—or maybe more accurately fear—for losing someone you cared about. For a person who had invested so much of herself into the identity of a model Jedi, it hadn’t been her proudest moment as she had later admitted to him.

After they’d found each other again on Odessen, he’d heard her nearly lose her temper a few times, suppress annoyance at senior staff bickering, the sting of betrayal from an ally as Scorpio’s machinations brought the Eternal Fleet to Odessen — but the barely suppressed protective fury was not something she allowed herself to feel. Or at least, he hadn’t thought it was.

Perhaps he had been too distracted over the past few months by his own fear at losing her again to see the other side of the coin. Watching as her shoulders stooped from the weight of the galaxy pressing down on her had been maddening, but it was the pinched look of masked dread whenever Valkorion appeared that awakened something deeply irrational inside of Theron. Even all these years later, the memory of her clinging to him outside the Coalition Camp on Yavin still stung like a fresh wound, with her broken confession of what the ghost trapped in her head had done to her on their first encounter playing on a constant loop. The need for him to stand between her and that monster was almost as primal as it was implausible, an instinctual holdover from less civilized times.

He had just forgotten that those protective instincts cut both ways.

“He was just a means to an end, and he’s served that purpose now.”

She was almost turned completely away from Theron, so that he could only just see a slim profile of her face, but the even so, he could see her brow tighten a fraction. “Purpose? What purpose does _this_ serve?”

Ah, it probably was too much for him to hope that she hadn’t noticed the… less than prime condition that he was in. His embarrassment at needing to be rescued aside, the fact that she was barely holding on to her normally strong and sound composure was worrying in itself. Whether it was rooted in her worry for him, or due to a slow erosion by the ghost in her head, it still meant that she wasn’t focused like she normally was. And that could prove to be deadly.

“You are here, are you not?”

“I am,” she said slowly, “but if you wanted to talk, there are other ways to get my attention.”

“Oh, you misunderstand me, Commander, it’s not _you_ I wish to speak to.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then why—?”

“Vitiate,” he practically purred the name, “you can stop hiding, I can see you as plain as day.”

She stiffened then, jaw tightening as her eyes flicked over her shoulder, as if listening to an unheard conversation. When Theron realized that the parasite in question had just made an appearance, he felt his own blood start to boil, Dirai’s words about the dead Emperor hollowing out his host echoing endlessly. It was only interrupted by an angry cry of rage.

“Why do you refuse to speak to me?” Dirai snarled.

Grey started, looking confused. “But I am—“

“Not _you_ , you simpering idiot!”

She had the grace to look offended, even as she continued to hold her protective stance, lightsaber not wavering in the slightest.

“My Emperor, I am a much more _worthy_ host—“

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Theron muttered. 

“You can not be serious,” she echoed the sentiment flatly. “The man you called Emperor was a _monster_ —“

“I will not stand here and be lectured by some _Jedi_ ,” this time Dirai did spit, as if the word left a foul taste in his mouth, “who squanders the gift of true power.”

“He does _not_ make a good point,” she muttered darkly, and it took Theron a moment to realize that the comment wasn’t directed at him or Dirai. 

 “Even now you refuse to reveal yourself to me,” Dirai seethed. “What must I do to get your attention?”

“Um,” Theron said quietly, “maybe now isn’t the best time for a side-bar with your unwanted guest.”

“If I could make him go away, I _would_ ,” she muttered.

Okay, point taken. That was the purpose of this whole, now obviously useless, escapade.

“Perhaps you need me to prove my worthiness?” Dirai continued to mutter to himself. “Yes, a show of power, a proper… sacrifice.” The Sith slid his gaze to the Jedi across from him, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “Yes.”

Before there was any time to react, a bolt of lightning shot out in their direction, which Grey immediately intercepted with her lightsaber. The purple lightning crackled off the blade, and the Sith gave out an angry cry as he lunged towards her. She drew her second saber in a flash, intercepted his blade before it had a chance to land the killing blow. Their blades were locked together in a quiet tense moment as they stared each other down, before they burst apart, sparks and lightning nearly blinding. By the time the black spots disappeared from Theron’s vision they were already crossing blades again, trading blows faster than the eye could see.

Theron tried to keep track of what was going on, but it was akin to trying to watch an individual spark in a sputter of flames. The light show of the clashing sabers danced around the room, the echoes of the crashing blades almost drowned out by the rumbles of distant explosions. Whoever else as here was making quite a show of things as well.

The duel continued to migrate around the room, sparks flying on each clash of the blade. Dirai was a master of the Juyo form, a pure expression of power as he tried to force the entirety of his will into every swing of his blade and beat his opponent into submission as he wielded his saber in a tight-two handed grip. Occasionally he would switch to one-hand, trying to blast his opponent off her feet with his lightning and attempting to sneak in a killing blow at the same time. On the other end, Grey preferred speed to pure force, twin blades whirling in an unending flurry, feet constantly in motion as she twirled to and fro. She made the Ataru form look almost as natural as breathing, her blades seemingly an extension of herself. 

It was a dance that Theron had become intimately familiar with, as when they were fighting side-by-side she seemed to move in rhythm with him, filling in the blank spaces and openings each other left, like pieces of a puzzle fitting together. There was something comforting about feeling her at his back, knowing that nothing would slip past those defenses. Without ever speaking a word, they could predict each others moves, almost moving as one person rather than two. It was a familiarity brought on by trust and intimacy. It should have been a constrictive style of fighting, having to move and compensate for the other person, but somehow it was freeing, allowing him to just exist in the moment.

Still trapped against the table, he could only watch the furious duel from the sidelines — absently feeling like he was missing a limb. Occasionally when the two Force users slowed enough to be seen by the naked eye, he would see a slip in her defenses that he would normally fill, and desperately hoped that her opponent didn’t notice. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Dirai let out one angry cry of rage, bringing down his saber in a powerful arc that would cleave durasteel in two. She caught the strike, barely, between her two crossed blades, the power of the blow nearly forcing her to her knees. Even from the distance, Theron could see her muscles twitch and twinge as she struggled to stay upright. He unconsciously jerked forward to her aid, but had gotten so focused on the duel he had neglected to finish his own daring escape. The cuffs held him securely in place, and he could only watch helplessly as a familiar cruel smile quirked at Dirai’s cracked lips.

“Now you see,” his arrogant chuckle practically echoed across the walls of the expansive room, “how your pathetic upbringing has failed you. It’s a pity, with that passion you might have made a fine Sith.”

And like he had flipped a switch, suddenly it wasn’t such a struggle for her to maintain her stance. Shards of permaglass and cracked pieces of duracrete began to float in the air, as if carried by an invisible wave emanating from the small Jedi. A bright, almost blinding light nearly obscured her figure as she stood to her full height, forcing the crossed twin blades towards Dirai.

“I am no Sith.” There was an edge of steel beneath that seemingly calm tone, a clear warning to her opponent. “And _none_ will ever hold any power over me.”

“You Jedi and your stupid platitudes—”

With another burst of light, Dirai was thrown across the room back towards Theron, saber tossed from his hand and rolling across the floor. She advanced forward calmly, the bright halo of light limning her figure like an avenging angel. The Sith looked up at the approaching Jedi, and for a moment, an actual flash of fear stole across his face. 

“You are done here, _my lord_.” There was such a heavy amount of sarcasm laced into those two words, Theron almost didn’t recognize that it had come from her. He had never been prouder in is life. “My companion and I will be leaving now.”

The Sith pushed himself up to his knees, an angry sneer twisting his features into a grotesque visage, as the purple sparks of lightning danced across his fingertips. “I think not.”

Without any further warning, his hand shot up, but not at his dueling opponent, but back towards his captive still strapped to the table. Theron saw the lightning rush towards him, but could only twist helplessly in his bonds, unable to get out of the way. The soft cry of dismay had barely reached his ears before a feminine figure had leapt in front of him just in time to take the full force of the blast. 

She dropped to her knees, muscles twitching as the lightning crackled around her. Her sabers dropped from her hands as Dirai cackled triumphantly, apparently channeling all of his rage into the long, continuous blast. Theron’s vision descended into a crimson haze, heart hammering in his ears as he jerked uselessly against the shackles. 

“As I said, your Jedi failings betray you. Compassion will always be your undoing.” The discarded saber flew back into Dirai’s hand, red blade hissing to life as he stalked towards his downed prey, holding her in place with the lightning shooting from his fingertips. “Now my Emperor will be freed from his pathetic bonds, and will take up a more worthy vessel.”

Grey could hardly raise her head under the onslaught of lightning, the muscles in her cheeks twitching as the electricity arced across her entire body.  He raised the blade of his saber high for a final, powerful strike. So preoccupied with preemptively savoring his victory, Dirai had forgotten just one thing.

“Toxicity _ten_.”

Theron practically snarled the command to his bracers, his free arm aimed straight at the Sith’s exposed neck. The poison dart shot out from its hidden compartment with a quiet snick and buried itself into Dirai’s trachea. The unrelenting lightning ceased with a sputter of sparks as Dirai staggered back, hand clawing at the dart embedded into his neck. The distinctive thrum was the only warning the cultist had before a dark purple blade speared through his chest, quickly ending his threat before the fast acting poison even had a chance to enter his bloodstream.

He dropped to the ground with a loud thud, eyes staring vacantly up at the ceiling. Grey slowly rose to her feet, not deactivating her lightsaber until she had approached the body on the floor and ensured that he was dead. When she finally turned back to face Theron, there was a practiced mask of calm in place that almost perfectly hid the storm of emotions brewing behind her eyes. The red haze of adrenaline had only started to fade from his own vision, and he was incapable of processing much beyond the mad thumping of his own heart.

She swallowed as she gingerly walked back towards Theron, although be it due to the strain of the duel, or an internal battle she was struggling with was unclear. She glanced at the metal cuffs briefly, as if sizing them up. A dark blond brow narrowed in contemplation, before she shot him a stern look. “Don’t move.”

Her saber reignited in a flash as it glanced across his bindings, and was deactivated and stowed before he could even blink. The cuffs had been the only thing keeping him upright, and he would have crumpled to the ground in a ungraceful heap if two strong hands had not been waiting to catch him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, as she was forced to bear all of his weight as he tried to find his feet after three days of confinement.

Her arms encircled him in an embrace that was meant to both keep him upright, and also convey the relief that was pouring off both of them. He wanted to return the gesture in kind, but his limbs weren’t cooperating at the moment. Everything felt heavy, like was trying to lift an entire starship rather than just stand on his own two feet.

“Are you—?” His vision swam for a moment, probably from being fully upright for the first time in days.

“I’m all right,” she murmured, pulling him a little closer. “Let’s focus on you.”

“Just need a moment.” His tongue felt a little thick, like whatever had effected his limbs had spread everywhere. “Then I’ll be good to go.”

She didn’t seem to be listening as she pulled her hand away and stared at it, unable to see anything but the red smear that had come from the ragged, unhealed wound on his side. When she did speak, her voice shook with unrepressed emotion. “What have they done to you?”

“…it’s just a scratch.”

She peered into his eyes a little too closely for it to be a romantic gesture. “They _drugged_ you too?”

Theron shrugged helplessly. If he needed to list everything that had happened during his three days of captivity, they were going to be here for far too long. Her examination was cut short by the ground rocking as another explosion shook the building, and it was only her firm grip under his shoulders that kept Theron on his feet.

“What the hell was that?”

“My backup.”

“Backup’s loud,” he muttered.

“He’s more of a distraction,” she said. “I had intended to free you with minimal violence. Your host’s arrival was unexpected.”

He snorted derisively. “You’re the Jedi master of the understatement.”

She frowned at him worriedly. “We should get you out of here.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, summoning his strength and attempting to push away from her hold so he could walk on his own two feet. “This way.”

She easily kept her grip on him. “Maybe I should lead?”

“S’okay, I got it—”

“No, I really think you don’t—”

Before the argument could descend further, the twin doors leading out from the warehouse to the rest of the building swung open dramatically, the echoes of more explosions triggering off in the distance as one excitable Mon Calmari burst into the room with a triumphant cry of victory.

“Commander, as exciting as this training exercise has been — maybe we should go?”

Theron swung around almost drunkenly, piercing Grey with an incredulous look. “ _Guss_ is your backup?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“He’s… he’s…” Theron gestured inarticulately as the Force user in question nervously danced on the balls of his feet. “ _Guss._ ”

“I’ll have you know, Guss is an excellent student—”

“Commander, as much as I appreciate you defending my honor,” Guss cut in, “maybe you can extoll my virtues to this tactless spy as we make a hasty retreat? There are some _very_ angry cultists on my tail!”

She gave him a tight nod, and looped Theron’s arm over her shoulders as she started towards the barricaded door leading out to the alleyway. He stumbled alongside her for a few steps, before he pulled away with a sudden burst of energy, circling back the way they came. The exasperated sigh she let out was very un-Jedi-like. He would have told her so, but he was too busy concentrating on keeping one foot in front of the other.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Need my stuff—”

“You could just ask—”

He staggered to a halt in front of the dirty, red jacket that had been nearly forgotten. As he bent over to scoop it up, his head swam again. Only the sudden presence of two steady hands fisting into shirt kept him from taking a tumble to the dirty floor. His fingers found purchase on the red leather, clutching it protectively as his very patient caretaker hauled him back upright.

“Can we go now?”

“Yes,” Theron said airily. “I can walk though.”

She shook her head at him, lips pressing together in a thin line. The sound of feet pounding in the distance caused her to look over her shoulder sharply, and she barked out a terse order to Guss. Theron tried to parse the words, but it was like trying to listen to something underwater. At the urging of the hand pressed into his back he got his shaking feet to take a few shuffling steps towards freedom. If he just focused on his legs, and not the way the world swayed and darkened at the edges of his vision then everything would be fine.

Guss’s lightsaber made quick work of the debris in front of the door, and for the first time in three days Theron could taste freedom. As they stumbled out into the dingy alleyway, he took in a deep breath of the outside air, relishing in the feel of it as the darkness in his vision rolled up to greet him.


	3. Chapter 3

He awoke to the familiar antiseptic burn of kolto gently being applied to the raw wound on his side. He jolted upwards, but a firm hand to his shoulder kept him in place.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” came an aggrieved whisper.

He focused on the direction of this voice, his bleary vision resolving itself into far more concern than ever needed to be etched onto that freckled face. His body was a curious mix of tingling numbness, arcing pain, and aching bruises. The soft hum of starship engines zipping through hyperspace let him know they had escaped the planet. He focused past all of that on the worried face of his rescuer, who paused in her ministrations. He started to reach out to try and brush the frown away, but his hand was firmly pushed down.

“Please don’t move. I still need to finish with this one on your side.” Her eyes dropped to the liberal amount of kolto she was preparing. “I’m sorry if I hurt you… I’m afraid my skills at a healer aren’t very adequate.”

“S’okay,” he whispered. His throat was still dry, so it came out more raspy than he intended.

Seeing as the rusty quality of his voice only made her brows knit together in even more concern, he wasn’t about to mention that even the lightest touch on the wound she was attempting to address was going to cause pain. If he had his wits about him, he could have tried to enter a meditative state to take away the worst of the sting, but his thoughts felt sluggish. A used stimpack sat on the tray she had laid out her medical supplies on, and the green label indicated it was the pain reliever that they kept in all of the emergency medkits. Ah, that explained it.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, catching his look, “I just wanted you to be comfortable. I know you don’t like them, but you were just in so much pain…”

He wasn’t sure if her contrition or her emotional distress at his wounded state was worse, but either way the guilt winding through him twisted his insides almost as much as the ragged hole in his side. He wrapped his fingers around the arm trying to hold him in place, catching her eye. “Thank you.”

Her brow smoothed a little, which helped ease some of his own guilt. Now only if he didn’t sound like he was croaking every time he tried to speak, that’d be great.  

 “I’ll get you something to drink soon,” she promised, “but I really have to dress your side first.”

He briefly wondered if she was using some sort of Force mind reading trick, or if perhaps he was just doing a really poor job at disguising his thoughts. He glanced past her stricken face, taking in the brightly lit interior of _the Defender_ ’s medbay. The once state-of-the-art medical facilities had been neglected over five years of disuse after the ship’s medic had disappeared into the Outer Rim. The facilities didn’t get turned on much these days as the ship usually sat docked out behind the Alliance’s military hangar, and Grey had authorized them to remove some of the pieces that had been needed for the medbay on Odessen at the time. A status chart beeped lazily overhead, displaying the vitals of the bed’s current occupant.

He felt the brush of cold, recirculated air rush over his chest. The tattered, bloody remains of his shirt had been tossed unceremoniously into the medical waste bin. A flash of red revealed that his jacket had been carefully hung up in the corner, although it still showed signs of three days worth of dirt and grime from being discarded on the floor. The bulky, bronze armor that Grey usually wore sat underneath it in a much less gracefully arranged pile. A gentle push to his shoulders drew his attention back to her as she tried to prevent him from moving any further.

“Lay back down,” she instructed gently. “I’m almost finished, I promise.”

She had stripped down to the form-fitting undershirt that she wore under her armor, although the bright blue material had seen better days. Patches of it were blackened and charred in spots, and was splattered with bright splotches of red. A sudden tightness wrapped around his chest, and he would have bolted upright had she not firmly pushed him back down.

“You’re hurt—”

“Theron, please—”

“Why haven’t you—”

“ _Theron_ ,” she said more forcefully, a pleading note breaking through her normally composed tone, “it’s not _my_ blood.”

“But—”

“You really need to let me finish dressing this wound,” she sounded so tired, almost borderline desperate.

He blinked several times, vision swimming slightly as he finally relented and laid back on the hard surface of the medical bed. As she tried to pull her hand away, he found that he couldn’t tell his fingers to let go, squeezing them tightly as her stricken face blurred in and out of focus. The panic was harder to swallow, as the bright flash of color was nearly impossible to ignore now that he’d noticed it. Memories of the tense fight and subsequent escape started to filter back in, of purple lightning arcing over her and a blood red lightsaber cleaving through the air. He felt a return squeeze on his fingers, as she gently ran her other hand through his hair.

“I’m all right,” she said, although the calm in her voice sounded forced to his ears. “Please relax and let me help you.”

Her grip on his fingers was like a lifeline, something to ground himself to and focus on. He took in a deep breath and let it out, the blind panic bleeding away as he soaked in whatever measure of calm she had managed to summon for his benefit. “Sorry, I… guess I’m not thinking clearly.”

Her composed facade slipped as she frowned, but her fingers continued to card through his hair. “You’ve had a long couple of days, but I’m here now. It’s going to be okay.”

A small measure of serenity flowed through him, carrying the rest of his anxiety away. Even with his thoughts muddled, he still found that a little odd. He was never this calm, even normally. “Are you being a sneaky Jedi right now?”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted quietly. “It’s just a small Force suggestion. Do you forgive me?”

If Theron had the wherewithal he might have laughed at the solemn look of contrition on her face. She took herself so seriously sometimes, even on such minor things. If their positions had been reversed, he would have also tried to find some way to calm her down before she had seriously injured herself. He gave the fingers holding his a small squeeze. “I’ll let it slide. This time.”

“Good.” One corner of her mouth quirked up into a sad smile. “Now, I need to finish dressing that wound. It’s… it’s bad, Theron.”

He swallowed, the motion agitating his dry and scratchy throat. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

That ghost of a smile disappeared. “ _Theron_ …”

He ignored her and closed his eyes for a moment. His fingers tightened around hers, and he drew on the sense of calm she was projecting to push past his muddled thoughts. In his mind’s eye, he could see the pain from his wound, a raw, pulsing darkness that tried to pull him under like a singularity sucking in all light. It was almost too much for Ngani Zho’s old technique. As he attempted to acknowledge the pain, it was only her anchor-like hold on him that kept him from getting swept away in the sensation and dragged away.

It took far longer than it should’ve, and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead by the time he opened his eyes to see her watching him with naked concern. The bright flare of pain had dulled to a constant, heavy pressure, and the raw sensation had faded to the back of his mind.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said hoarsely.

“How often do you do that?” she asked, voice still quiet.

“Whenever I need to.”

“Pain tells us our limits.” She pursed her lips together. “It can be dangerous if you push yourself too much.”

“I know my limits,” he said, “would be dead otherwise.”

She didn’t look like she really believed him, and he might have been more insulted if he wasn’t still drawing on the measure of calm she was still projecting. It was possible her disbelief stemmed from whatever state she had found him in. Theron had yet to look in a mirror to inspect exactly how he looked after his time in Dirai’s questionable care.

He released his tight grip on her fingers, and after a moment’s hesitation she withdrew and returned to the kolto she had prepared. This time he hardly even flinched as she finished cleaning the wound and gently applying the kolto to it. Without having to fight him, the process went by much quicker, and she finished securing the bandage without any fuss.

“Thank you.” Her voice was still quiet, but he could still clearly hear the undercurrent of concern. “The bruising is quite extensive too, but the scans indicate they’re mostly on the surface. I can apply some more kolto to them, but you’ll have to sit up for that.”

From the look on her face, he was fairly certain that was the last thing she really wanted for him. She was probably afraid he’d try to bolt or something.

“You’re the doctor.” He tried to summon a smile, but it may have come out as a grimace. “Whatever you think is best.”

“I wish I were one.” Frustration began to leak into her overly calm tone. “Then I might actually have a kolto tank to submerge you in right now. Or at least some healing techniques I could apply to someone other than myself.”

“It was a joke.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t find any of this amusing!”

“Hey, I…” He reached out to grasp her hand, but she jerked away and moved out of his range. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Her eyes flashed, a very rare undercurrent of anger actually surfacing. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Look, I’m sorry you had to come in like that. I really was trying to get out on my—”

“ _That’s_ your concern? That you’re embarrassed you had to be rescued?”

This was a side to his sweet little Jedi that he had never seen, and Theron shrank back to his cot as she began to pace the small medbay. “No?”

“You missed your check in three days ago without giving any details of what you were doing. _Three days_ — and I was the _closest_ one in range. What if Lana hadn’t thought to ask me to look in on you?”

“I would’ve figured out something—”

“No, you _wouldn’t_ have!” Her cheeks flamed red as she whirled on him. Usually he found it cute, but this time it was different. She was angry, legitimately angry. At him. “We had to carry you out of there as it was—you would have _died_ , Theron.”

“I’m…” The word “sorry” caught in his throat, a tightness that had nothing to do with his myriad of injuries building in his chest. He started to leverage himself up, not wanting to be laying down for this. “I’m okay.”

“What are you—no, lay back down!” And like that the anger bled away as she rushed back over, trying to get him settled back into the bed. “Please, you need to rest.”

“But you’re…”

She closed her eyes, heaving in a deep calming breath before slowly letting it out. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

Now that she was back in his range, he tentatively reached out and brushed his thumb across her cheek, watching as the angry red tinge faded. “You’re allowed to.”

“No, you are injured. It’s inappropriate for me to lash out.”

“I can take it.”

Her eyes snapped open, fixing on him with a disapproving expression. “You have had enough of ‘taking it’ over the past few days as far as I’m concerned.”

“That’s different.”

“I don’t want to fight with you about this,” she murmured, “it was bad enough when I—”

She cut herself off with a lurch, lips pressing together in a thin line so tightly some of the color started to fade. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed the rest of the statement, brows knitting together and eyes screwing shut as she forced herself to be quiet. For a long few moments the silence stretched on, before she traced the shell of her ear with her thumb. A gesture meant just for him, and her silent signal that she wanted to say something, but didn’t want the unwanted visitor in her head to hear the sentiment.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, especially as of late. And Theron had come to _loathe_ it.

Back when he had first arrived on Odessen, whenever they had started to move into a serious discussion she would clam up like this. He’d understood, of everyone on base at time he had _really_ understood. Even Teeseven, with all of their shared history, hadn’t been privy to her broken confession on Yavin IV where she’d revealed her deepest fear of being overtaken again by the evil presence now taking up residence in her mind. Back then, it had been just that — a long dormant fear reawakened when the former Sith Emperor had been unleashed back on the galaxy by Theron’s ancestor. That fear had morphed into a never-ending waking nightmare after her and Valkorion’s confrontation in the Spire had led him to take up residence in her mind.

Theron had wanted to talk to her about it, but she would shut down the moment it came up. It wasn’t until they’d returned to the Endless Swamp with Havoc Squad that he’d finally gotten some insight when she’d quietly informed him of when Valkorion had tried to take advantage of Lana being placed in mortal peril to force Grey to accept some of his power. The fact that she had still refused, even with potentially Lana’s life on the line, had haunted her. When she had looked at him after her quiet confession, wide blue eyes shining in the darkness, she hadn’t needed to fill in the rest of the blanks. It didn’t take a genius to make the connection to their renewed relationship and what might happen if that choice came up again, but with Theron.

And then Valkorion had seemingly vanished, left them to their own devices and for the first time in five years they could _talk_. It was slow going, as she had lingering doubts about truly being free of him. But as time wore on without any sign of the hated ghost, she had started to open up to Theron again like she had before Zakuul had ripped her away.

They had been approaching something normal, maybe even happy—when Valkorion had come back. Or rather, revealed that he had never left. Theron had seen it the moment it happened. He and Lana had been reviewing the positive outcomes of her defeat of Arcann, when something in the air seemed to shift. She had been listening dutifully a moment before, a hint of a smile forming at the good news, and then he blinked and all of the color drained from her face. That expression of naked panic he’d only witnessed once outside of the temple on Yavin IV, when she had first heard the voice of her tormenter years after she had thought him gone. Just a momentary slip before a practiced neutral expression slid back in. It had been just as quick this time as well, so much so that Lana hadn’t even picked up on it. But Theron had seen, and he _knew_.

Just like that, all of their progress came to a screeching halt, and even began shuffling backwards. She had let the chinks in her amor show, stopped worrying about showing how much she cared and now the devil standing in between them knew all of her weak points. Although Theron had a sneaking suspicion that Valkorion had already guessed a few. Had likely been watching from the shadows of her mind during their most private and intimate moments from the start.

“Sorry,” she murmured before gathering herself together again, “what I meant is that you have been through an ordeal. I do not wish to add to it.”

“Talk to me,” he almost said, but the words wouldn’t quite form on his tongue. He almost preferred the anger to this deceptive calm she was hiding behind. Not that he _liked_ the anger — especially when directed his way — but at least it was real. Unlike that mask of the perfect Jedi she showed to the world. She was so much more than that, and yet day by day, moment by moment, he watched a little more of the real her disappear. Like grains of sand slipping between his fingers, he couldn’t hold on no matter how hard he tried.

“Let me grab some more kolto,” she whispered.

They had been making so much progress, but Theron was still so out of his depth with this sort of thing. He watched her shuffle around the medbay, somehow feeling just as helpless as if he were still strapped to that table back on Skeressa. He knew he should have said something, but the clarity and measure of calm had started to fade away and the distant pain he’d pushed to the back of his consciousness started to creep back in. The analgesic effect of the kolto was starting to kick in, but he would have needed to be submerged in a tank to keep the pain at bay completely. And as it crept back up, the words he needed to say slipped away like everything else.

She began to administer much smaller batches of kolto to various cuts, scratches and bruises in silence. He meant to close his eyes, give her the impression of some privacy since she didn’t want to talk, but he couldn’t help but watch the way her hands moved. Usually so deft and certain, each movement now marked with hesitation and uncertainty. No matter how much she tried to hide behind her mask of calm, it was blindingly obvious to him that she was anything but. Tension hung thick in the silence, just one more thing separating them.

“How long until we get back to Odessen?” It was the only thing he could think of asking that was a safe subject. Usually he would crack a joke to relieve the tension, but seeing how his last one was received it didn’t seem like a good option.

“Five days.” She glanced down at him, neutral expression slipping for a moment.

“It took me almost two weeks to get here.”

“Guss says he knows of a shortcut.”

A smart remark formed on his lips, but he let it go. It still wasn’t the time. “Don’t push the engines too much on my account.”

For a moment, he thought she was going to deny it, but she just shook her head ever so slightly. “Hutt Space isn’t a good place get stranded.”

“Thought the worms owed you a favor or ten.”

She shot him a chastising look, probably for his choice of words more than anything. “We are even at this point.”

“Pity. I wouldn’t mind taking a long rest stop at your swanky little sky palace.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have shown you that.”

“But it has such a nice view.”

“Perhaps, but as far as I’m concerned, the further we are from Skeressa, the better.” He couldn’t fault her there. It _was_ kind of a dump. Although its lack of a thriving tourism industry probably didn’t factor into her reasoning much. “Those people were involved in some very dark things.”

It was true. He’d heard the rumors of disappearances while looking into Arcann’s whereabouts, and the grisly remains that sometimes were found much, much later. All of the beggars and urchins had learned to stay far away from that dirty alleyway and stretch of road — the snippets of horror stories he’d been told had been tucked away in the back of his mind during his captivity. Devils came in all shapes and sizes, and those on Skeressa were made of flesh and bone. Theron wasn’t the only “guest” to grace that warehouse, but apparently he had been one of the luckier ones. Probably because he’d been part of Dirai’s little pet project to try and get Valkorion’s attention.

“The Force is not meant to be twisted like that,” she said quietly. “That corruption seeped into everything they touched.”

Her fingers subconsciously drifted to his forehead, gently tousling his hair. He leaned into the touch, that same sense of soothing calm seeming to emanate from just her soft caress. His thoughts were starting to drift off when the gentle motion suddenly paused, and when he looked up her expression had darkened into a familiar scowl.

Distantly Theron heard a pounding, and it took several long moments before he realized it was the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears. It was the same scowl that would sometimes appear at the mention of Vaylin, or more often the throne controlling the Eternal Fleet. Or when Koth or Senya mentioned some Zakuulan tradition that had been started within the past three centuries. While Valkorion’s favorite subject to butt in on was often himself, sometimes he’d interrupt in the middle of something mundane like breakfast, ruining perfectly good cups of caffa and appetites all around. One time he’d decided to chime in while both of them had been in flagrante delicto. (Theron had responded rather poorly to that incident in particular.) If their relationship was a dance, then the devil that haunted her was constantly cutting in. There was no escape from it, unless he decided to just stay away completely and leave her to the mercy of the mad ramblings of the monster in her head. 

As frustrated and angry as it made him, there was no way that was going to happen. He’d already lost her for five years. He’d fight to his last breath before he let someone rip her away again — even if that person was a manipulative incorporeal world devourer with serious boundary issues.

Theron wasn’t stupid, he knew what this thing between them was — knew what the strange tightness in his chest _really_ meant when she looked at him like he was the only person in the galaxy. He’d seen others around him fall prey to it time and time again, but he had always assumed it was one of those things that happened to other people. It had snuck up on him, slowly dragging him under the more time they spent together. He had almost said those three words to her, the ones he had never spoken nor heard ever in his life. They had been building up for months but kept catching in his throat at the last possible moment. It had been what he’d meant to say before she had gone off to face Arcann above Odessen, but came out as “be careful” instead. 

He had meant to try again, had wanted to find a private moment after their debrief so he could force the proper words out. Maybe then the tightness building in his chest would finally loosen up whenever he looked her way. But then Valkorion had returned—and the time for speaking openly and honestly had passed. If she didn’t feel she could express her feelings without fear of them being twisted on her, what would him sharing those words do other than make things that much worse? So he shoved them away, back to the farthest reaches of his mind. Because if he couldn’t say them aloud, then he had no right to even think them.

Whatever Valkorion had to say was apparently not drawn out, as her scowl soon smoothed back into a neutral expression. She let out a long breath, fingers began moving again, absently brushing through Theron’s hair, but her eyes remain fixed on some far point in the room.

“So what did the creepy lecherous Force ghost have to say this time?”

She didn’t startle exactly, but his question took her off guard as her expression slipped into mild apprehension, but she still didn’t meet his eye. “Do not worry about it.”

The tightness in his chest began building again, the real words and emotions he needed to say getting stuck in his throat like they always did. He could have let it go, but he found himself reaching up and laying a hand on her arm instead. “I worry.”

They weren’t the right words, his voice low and rough as he forced them out anyway. Her eyes squinted, forehead wrinkling as she tried to suppress her reaction. When she pressed her mouth into a thin line, he couldn’t help himself, and gave her arm a soft, supportive squeeze. That was apparently all it took to break her resolve as she leaned down and brushed her lips against his softly before lightly resting her forehead against his.

He didn’t have the Force, and he couldn’t project a sense of calm or support for her in return. All he could do was lean into her as much as his awkward, uncomfortable position allowed on the small cot, and keep his hold on her arm to let her know that he was there. It was woefully inadequate, but it was all he had to offer. For this small quiet moment, it seemed to be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Sitting up wasn’t quite the ordeal that his caretaker had thought it would be, but a trickle of sweat rolled down the side of Theron’s face all the same. Between the perspiration and the general funk that developed after three days in captivity, he had to have reeked. He distantly wondered if she was plugging her nose with the Force or something as he finished sipping the water she had given him. He probably could have chugged several liters if she gave him the chance.

“What are my chances of stealing your sonic shower?”

She just gave him a look. “You’re hardly sitting up as it is.”

“Sponge bath then?”

She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, actual exasperation breaking through her veil of worry. That was at least a step in the right direction. “Is that really your main concern right now?”

“I feel like I just rolled around in Zakuulan swamp muck. And probably smell like it too.”

“Our first priority is to finish addressing your injuries.”

“Then a sponge bath?” He bobbed his eyebrows lightly, although his heart wasn’t quite in it.

She sighed wearily. “I will see what I can do, _after_ you’ve rested some.”

Normally she had a seemingly endless well of patience when it came to his antics and sarcasm, but he sensed that it was probably a good time to not push her any further. Her angry outburst from earlier was still fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want a repeat of that. Especially since Valkorion was apparently taking an interest in the proceedings. Her attempts to disguise her true feelings from the ghost were likely futile, but at this point it was probably more of a coping mechanism than anything else. Theron wasn’t the one with a monster trapped in his head, and he wanted to be as supportive as he could. Sometimes he just felt like collateral damage in their never-ending war for control.

The empty glass was taken away before she retrieved more kolto. He would have worried about how much she had in stock, but that was one thing he had made sure the quartermaster knew to keep in abundant supply on _the Defender_. She might have been the heaviest hitter in the galaxy, but she wasn’t invincible no matter how hard she tried to project that image.

She gently applied another patch of kolto to one of the deeper bruises that started at his ribs and wrapped around his back. That had come from a particularly angry outburst from Dirai. It was possible Theron might have said something sarcastic in response to one of his questions. (That sounded like him.) He was surprised that the scan revealed they weren’t cracked, but he’d take what he could get at this point. Her touch was light, but not enough to prevent his flinch. She caught the movement and flashed him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, I’m almost done.”

“Just do what you got to do, don’t worry about me.”

“It’s a little late for that at this point, don’t you think?” Her tone had an air of forced levity, but the wrinkling of her brow let him know it wasn’t really meant as a joke.

“Poor choice of words.”

She seemed to busy her hands with very, very gently applying more kolto to the large section of mottled skin, but the frown was still in place. “What were you doing on Skeressa?”

“Looking for Arcann. It turned out to be a bogus lead.” He’d hoped that perhaps if he left it a bit vague, she’d let the subject drop.

“Exactly how did Dirai and his followers factor in, then?” Then again, he’d neglected to factor in that he was dating a particularly stubborn breed of Jedi. “I am not naive enough to believe this was purely Alliance business.”

He pressed his lips together, staring over her shoulder so he didn’t have to look her in the eye. “Things didn’t quite go as planned.”

“This isn’t the only time something hasn’t gone to ‘plan’ though, is it?” She straightened up, looking him square in the eye. “Like the time you and Torian came back from Tatooine looking like you’d fought a minor war?”

“That was… complicated.” Theron was trained to withstand any interrogation, had just survived three days of hell without breaking once, but found his resolve crumbling as he stared into her stormy blue eyes. “In my defense, we brought back Gault and Blizz in one complete and unbruised piece.”

“What is going on with you, Theron?” She gently cupped his chin, gaze softening. “You have disappeared like this more than just twice recently, but it’s getting worse each time.”

“I don’t really think worse is the right—”

“You were just held captive and _tortured_ by a death cult filled with Dark Side users who routinely practiced blood sacrifice and old Sith traditions actually _banned_ by the Empire.”

This was probably the wrong time to ask her how she had found out about those rumors. It had taken him several days getting acclimated to the locals to hear those tales. Exactly how long had she been on Skeressa looking for him? From the dark circles under her eyes, it was possible that she had been on the planet longer than just the time it took to walk from her ship to the warehouse.

“Am I really supposed to believe this had something to do with Arcann?” As she continued, her stare did not soften, but the naked concern shone through. “What aren’t you _telling_ me?”

He shut his eyes, unable to take her staring at him with such open worry and care. If he wanted to, he could give her some excuse. Even as muddied and unorganized as his thoughts were right now, he’d probably be able to think of something that would satisfy her curiosity and ease her mind. He could lie to her face and she probably wouldn’t even realize. It was what he had been trained to do after all. It was a hallmark of the profession he’d chosen after the one he’d been raised for didn’t pan out. But if he were being honest with himself, he didn’t _want_ to. He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted this damned dance to stop. Wanted things to go back to how they’d been before Valkorion. But more than any of that, Theron just wanted _her_. That’s all he had wanted for a long, long time.

When he looked at her, he didn’t say anything immediately. The truth got stuck in his throat, like he had forgotten what it sounded like to not pretend. He tried again and opened his mouth, but the first word died on his lips when he realized there was an extra set of incorporeal ears listening. A cold sensation ran down his spine as he contemplated for the first time exactly what Valkorion’s reaction might be to learning that Theron was actively trying to find information to eliminate him. Would it matter? Would he even care? If he did, would his reaction tend more towards detached amusement or anger? If it was the latter, would he be able to act on it and lash out as his intended target, or would he just find some new and worse way to torture the Jedi he was haunting? Theron couldn’t suppress the chill that ran through him.

She frowned, a look of disappointment and hurt stealing across her face as she assumed he was clamming up on her again. He shook his head fiercely, reluctantly catching her eye again as he very slowly and deliberately traced the shell of his ear with his thumb. He may have hated their secret gesture at this point as it had become a symbol of what kept them apart, even if they were standing side-by-side. However she needed to know that he _really_ wanted to tell her what he had been trying to discover while on Skeressa, but he didn’t want Valkorion to overhear. It took her a few moments to put together the signal with her previous question, but she connected the pieces together quickly enough. From the way her eyes slowly widened in understanding, it seemed she might have also started to guess the type of information Theron had been searching for when he’d gotten captured, and who he’d been conducting his investigation on behalf of. 

She let out a horrified gasp, hands flying to her mouth as she shook her head violently, unshed tears forming in her wide blue eyes. Watching her reaction was not quite unlike feeling like someone had just punched him in the gut. He knew there was probably something reassuring that needed to be said, but he had difficulty swallowing past the lump that formed in his throat.

Amazingly, she was the first one to find words. “Why?”

He wanted to ask if it was obvious, but he couldn’t get a sound out. In all his life, no one managed to tie him up in knots the way she could with just a single look. He would think it was unfair, but it was far, far beyond just that.

“Why would you…”

The words had been exchanged years, hell, almost a lifetime ago. But they were still fresh in Theron’s mind as the day they had first been uttered. He could still feel her fingers digging trenches into the red leather of his jacket as she brokenly asked what would happen if she fell again to the monster that had forced her to murder civilians, locked her in her mind as she tortured her crew. The words had left him before he’d even had time to think them through:

 _“You’re not going to fall,”_ he had said. _“Because I’m going to catch you.”_

The words were nonsensical, but he hadn’t been _thinking_. Just… acting on instinct. Maybe he should have just held her and let her cry, but he’d needed to let her know she wasn’t facing that fear alone. They should have just been words of comfort, but he’d _meant_ it as a promise. Even if he hadn’t a single clue how a Force-blind Padawan-washout-turned-spy would ever be able to stop a Jedi Master from sliding down into darkness.

With everything that had happened since Yavin, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she didn’t remember exactly what had been said up on that crumbling plateau with only the stars as their witness. But he couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he had tried. And he had tried.

Theron forced himself to look at her, managing to fight past that damnable lump that made his voice sound far too rough with emotion. “I made you a promise a long time ago.”

“I…” Her brow crinkled into a frown, before her eyes widened. She _did_ remember. “No…”

“I don’t want to be someone who breaks promises to you. Not then, and not now.”

“Please… I’m not worth—”

“You _are_.” Heedless of any damn Force ghosts listening in or injuries he grabbed her hand, fiercely squeezing it. “Nothing is going to change that for me.”

“Maybe it should,” she whispered and tried to pull away. “I would rather have _you_ alive than dead with your word intact.”

Perhaps it was the cocktail of painkillers and whatever drugs were still left in his system, the distant ache and searing pain, or the fact that thinking straight was like swimming through the muck — but he couldn’t force himself to let go of her hand. They’d always had a silent understanding that when either of them needed space, they’d respect that. Normally he didn’t have this much difficulty, and was usually better at not holding on too tightly both literally and metaphorically. But her hand was too warm in his, and everything around them was so _cold_. Had it always been this frigid? Maybe he should ask her to check the environmental settings.

She looked at him with a torn expression, but whatever she was going to say was drowned out by a shout in the hall from their friendly neighborhood Mon Calmari. Grey let out a long breath, and the mask of the Alliance Commander slid back into place as she stepped away from the cot. Theron’s fingers loosened his hold on her and slipped around the edge of the bed. He hoped that the quick motion and white knuckled grip looked more like he just needed to hold onto something for support than a guilty reaction for his moment of weakness.

“Commander! Good news!” Guss’s face popped into the doorway a second later. “I think we’ll be able to shave off an extra few hours if we—oh, it looks like he’s awake. Feeling any better, Theron?”

“Oh, yeah.” He swung a miserable look at the latest interloper into their conversation, feeling a prickle of gooseflesh raising. Someone really needed to check the thermostat. “Ready to run the Coruscant 5K.”

Theron’s other half let out an annoyed breath, but Guss continued on as if the sarcasm didn’t phase him at all. “Oh, that’s good to hear. You were pretty out of it for a while there. I had to carry you back to the ship in my strong arms. Swaddled you in your jacket, just like a little baby.”

It was possible the angry noise Theron made in the back of his throat could have been _more_ articulate (he had planned on asking for his blaster), but that required more coherency than he seemed to possess at the moment. A calming hand was laid on his shoulder, almost blazing in its warmth. 

“Perhaps you can give us a moment, Guss?”

“Ah, _of course_ ,” the Mon Calmari said conspiratorially, tapping the side of his face knowingly. “My old captain would always turn up the music in his cabin very loudly when he needed a moment or three with his lady. Or ladies. Do you prefer classical music or synth rock?”

She blinked before her cheeks blazed red as she caught onto his meaning. “ _Guss_!”

“What?”

She shook her head, trying to keep a hold on her composure. Theron briefly thought about trying to repeat his suggestion on finding his blasters (with the added benefit of actually saying that this time around), but she cut that off with a stern look. “I believe that bath you asked for will have to wait a bit longer.”

Bath? That was the last thing he needed right now with the temperature around them plunging like it was. He slid his glance over at his dirty, grimy jacket longingly. It was too far to reach, and the thought of standing up and walking even that small distance seemed like a monumental task. A gentle pressure on his shoulders gained his attention and he looked up to see her staring at him with that same look of concern.

“I think you should lay down for a little while.”

“But…”

“Come on, I’ll help.”

With an offer like that, how could he refuse? Not that he had much strength to fight back if he wanted to. He might have held on to her a little tighter than needed as she guided him onto his back, and his hold on her lingered far longer than necessary. She gave him a reassuring smile before extracting her hand to accept a blanket being handed to her. The action of her carefully draping it across him was strange. He wasn’t used to someone to treating him so tenderly, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about it. 

Her fingers began to card through his hair again, the small action sending a small measure of warmth running through him. Not enough to chase away the chill completely, but it warded it off enough to where his eyes began to feel heavy.

“It’s time for you to rest now,” she said quietly, the soothing note seeming to break through his muddy thoughts as if carried through on a wave. “I’m going to step away for a minute, but I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He watched her, trying to fight the sleep threatening to pull him under. She continued to run her fingers through his hair, staring at him with that gentle smile. It was possible he was already dreaming, because he could have sworn that she was bathed in the most beautiful light. It was far too easy to get lost in the sensation of it all, and before he knew it his eyes had begun to drift shut.

Satisfied, she gave his head one last pat before extricating herself. As she stepped away, the cold began to creep back in like a slow rising flood. It was a struggle to crack his eyes open, fatigue trying to drag him under, but he managed to spy her form walking away from him. She was still haloed in light, but the further she got, the dimmer it glowed. 

The chill surrounding him intensified as an angry purple haze seemed to leak out from the fading light, coiling around it like a serpent moving in for the kill. Theron tried to get up, but his limbs refused to cooperate. He could only watch on helplessly as the hazy darkness filled the room. It snuffed out the light completely, leaving nothing but dust motes in its wake.

It was too late, but Theron tried to reach out all the same, his voice catching in his throat. This action only seemed to gain the attention of the darkness, which seemed to shift and turn before suddenly rushing forward and overtaking him completely.


	5. Chapter 5

He drifted in shadow for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally opened his eyes, he’d forgotten where had been before — but there was no mistaking where was now. He was back on Skeressa. 

The red light from Dirai’s lightsaber washed the surrounding darkness with a crimson glow. Theron was still trapped, strapped to the interrogation table as the darkness and deranged Sith drew in closer, unhinged mutterings about the Force echoing against the unseen walls so loudly it was almost maddening.

There was no moving, no escape as he jerked against his bonds uselessly. With his free hand Dirai roughly pulled the vibroblade from Theron’s side, pain blossoming with the action like he had just stoked a flame. It rose around him like a fire, burning everything it touched including his tormenter. 

As the flames slowly consumed him, Dirai descended into a mad, pain-tinged cackle that drowned out the mutterings still echoing endlessly. The laughter rose in pitch even as Dirai’s scarred and twisted face crumbled into ash. Theron could only watch in helpless horror as the flames rose around him, struggling useslessly against his bonds.

“He will devour everything.” The words swirled around him like the ashes of his dead tormenter, nearly inaudible over the echoing cackle. “All he touches turns to dust.”

Theron pitched back and forth, trying to escape the flames and the invisible bonds holding him down. There was no escape, the weight of the darkness behind the flames crushing down on him, acrid smoke and ash filling his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t—

 _Theron, breathe_. The flames parted, and a familiar feminine visage came into view. _Focus on me._

He blinked and the swirl of fire, pain, and madness seemed to hold still for a second, held at bay by the small figure limned in a soft light. Words couldn’t seem to form, and she graced him with a small smile. When her hand cupped his face, the world began to move again, flames and heat melting away at her light touch.

 _Just be still_ , she whispered. _Let me help you_.

The pain and fire began to pull away, as if they were being sucked into a vortex. They swirled with the light illuminating her soft figure, her calm visage contorting into a grimace as she drew everything to her.

He tried to croak out a protest, but she looked at him again, eyes crinkling in pain even as she graced him with a comforting smile. _I am here_.

Flame and light swirled together, creating a monstrous visage out of her normally beautiful features.

 _Do not worry_.

Theron wanted to look away, wanted to move, but all he could do was watch as her smile turned into ash and all of the light winked out. Even his shout of denial was lost to the darkness.

 _It’s going to be okay._  


* * *

  
The rain on Yavin IV came down in sheets, like someone had drawn a curtain of water around them all. Theron was soaked to the bone, staring down as the defeated figure of his ancestor stared up at the sky above them in abject horror. 

“The ritual hasn’t even begun!” Revan’s words were nearly lost, drowned out by the pounding rain, and a deep echoing cackle that seemed to come from the planet itself.

Beyond the torrential rain a cloud was rising, a roiling malevolence so dark that it seemed to absorb all the light around it. A shiver ran down his spine, although it was hard to tell if it was from the rain pelting down mercilessly, or from the dark presence that had been awakened. 

The shiver intensified to an uncontrollable tremor, until he was shaking as badly as the ground. He lost his footing and tumbled to the hard stone floor of the ancient temple, unable to stop shaking as the chill spread to every part of his body. The rain continued to pour down as the shadows started to press in.

One by one they fell around him, until he was the only left. Lana, Jakarro, his mother, Marr, and Viszla, even half-mad Revan — all were consumed by the darkness that stalked towards him like a predator. He was frozen in place, the rain pressing him down and tremors racking his body effectively trapping him to the spot. It began to close around him, like a curtain slowly being drawn shut. 

 _I’ve got you._ A hand, blazing in its warmth, rested on his cheek. The tremors holding him in place slowly subsided away, enough to where he could look up to see a familiar, freckled face gracing him with a gentle smile meant only for him. Her blonde hair was flattened against her head, soaked by the never-ending torrent of rain, but she was bathed in a warm glow that seemed to push back the darkness. _I’m not going to let anything happen to you._

He leaned in to her, and as her arms wrapped around in him in a tender embrace, warmth flooded back into his frozen veins. She drew him up from the stone floor that was to be his tomb, fingers combing softly through his hair. The action was so soothing, the warmth so comforting, he almost forgot about the darkness pressing in around them on all sides.

 _I’m going to fix this, Theron. I promise._ He nodded his understanding. Ever since they had met, she had pulled off the impossible again and again. She could fight insurmountable odds, save the galaxy time after time, or even make a believer out of a lifelong cynic. She would be able to fix it. Even if Theron wasn’t sure what _it_ was that needed fixing.

As her warmth continued to flood into him, the fingers carding through his hair grew colder, more brittle. He watched as the color drained from her face, until her lips turned blue and all of the light faded away. And as the light faded, the darkness pressed in, curling around and obscuring her form like smoke.

“No—no—”

His protests fell on deaf, frozen ears, her gentle smile turned to ice. He reached out, trying to give the warmth back, but she shattered on his touch.

He tried to cry out, but it was drowned out by a malevolent cackle as the darkness claimed him once more.  


* * *

  
Or was he on Rishi, back in the Revanite compound? 

“We are bound together in blood.” The last word seemed accentuated under mechanical rasp. “Together we can save the galaxy from his evil, it’s our family’s destiny.”

The air around Theron was sweltering, humidity pressing down on him like a physical presence as the lightning crackling around him ended in a hiss. The cracked mask hid all of Revan’s features, but the mechanical voice seemed to echo endlessly in the darkened interrogation room.

“Vitiate destroys _everything—”_

 _Vitiate…_ he didn’t go by that name any more…

The prickle of dread rose up along with a good dose of nausea. His ancestor’s mutterings were becoming increasingly unhinged as he alternated between trying to make Theron talk by any means necessary and recruiting him into the fold. But this was wrong, it hadn’t happened like this.

“Trying to stop him cost me _everything_. My wife. My whole future. I never even got to meet my son…”

The room was just as he remembered it, but everything was just _off_. He wanted to say something about that, but nothing seemed to work. He was stuck in a state of paralysis as Revan paced back and forth, and the air around Theron just seemed to press in tighter.

“You’re so like Vaner… you both grew up different than we had planned. Without your father. Without the Force. But things could be different this time, this could be a second chance. For _both_ of us.”

No, he’d _had_ a father. Ngani Zho didn’t need to share blood with Theron to have raised him. To have made him the man he was. Maybe someone that maybe Zho would be proud of too. Those words didn’t come out, though, just a pained gasp as Revan’s talk of family and legacy gave way to rants about the greater good.

He was still strapped down to the interrogation table. Trapped like an animal, unable to escape. Helpless. Useless. Just like Skeressa—no. This was _Rishi._ But how? He had just been on Yavin. The masked figure drew closer, lightning arcing between his fingertips, pulling the darkness around him like a cloak. It closed in around him, oppressive, smothering—

 _It’s okay._ With that familiar voice came a blinding light, beating back the encroaching darkness like the coming dawn. Spots danced in his vision, but he could still make out a familiar feminine silhouette. _I’ve got you._

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

_Just breathe… open your eyes…_

“But you weren’t there! No one was there—”

_I’m right at your side. I haven’t left, I promise._

Lightning shot out from Revan’s fingertips, clouds of darkness following in its wake heading straight towards him. He flinched, but the expected shock never came, just a pained grunt from the figure that had moved to intercept the blast. Just like she had with Dirai. She curled around him, her tiny body forming a barrier, attempting to block all the pain meant for him.

“No,” he croaked, “stop—”

 _Don’t worry_. Her smile was pained, but determination blazed behind those blue eyes. _I’m not leaving you._

“That’s what you always say!”

 _I would never lie to you_. Her voice almost sounded choked, desperate. _Please, Theron, I just need you to—_

Her plea ended in a sucking gasp, eyes widened in shock as a red saber speared through her gut. Revan’s towering figure was almost completely obscured by the darkness, swirling around them madly. She reached out, gently cupping his face. _Please hold on—_

He tried, but she was whisked away by the darkness, just like every time before. As it pressed in, smothering out every breath he tried to take, he thought he heard something echo in the never ending blackness.

_I’m not letting you go.  
_

* * *

  
She was there with him under the red skies of Haashimut, a supportive hand on his back as he stumbled step after step through the desert. There on the Sun Razer during his mad dash for the shuttle, giving him that final shove to safety as everything around him descended into fire and chaos. On the Ascendent Spear as he faced off against Darth Karrid. On Nar Shaddaa. The ODCC. Makeb. Taris. Even though she had been there for none of that the first time, she was there now, voice soft and kind, encouraging him to come back to her. All he had to do was take her hand.

Every time he tried, she swirled away like the sands in the desert, leaving him in darkness before he found himself somewhere else. No matter how hard he tried to hold on, she slipped out of his grasp and he wound up falling again. He was surrounded by the abyss, pure nothingness beckoning with its sweet cold embrace. All he had to do was let go — stop trying and it would all be over.

 _Please, Theron—_ her voice surrounded him, raw and pained. Her call was just as desperate as his need to find the end to this maze. He could see just one way out, the abyss beckoning and trying to pull him down like a ship caught in a gravity well. It would be just so easy to let his last grip slip and slide into it the nothingness— _please_ , _don’t leave me_.

 _I’m here_ —a single pinpoint of light lit up the darkness. It could have been as dim as a flickering candle, but in the inky black it was as blinding as the sun. Its warmth reached for him, but couldn’t quite cross the distance, darkness yanking him back like a jealous lover— _all you have to do is take my hand._

He just wanted to let go so he could stop fighting and _rest_. 

_Please… just come back to me._

But the pain and desperation in that quiet request lit the last fire of defiance in him, had him reaching across the expanse, fighting against the shadows aggressively trying to tear him away. With the last ounce of strength he flung his arm out blindly, fingers brushing against the light—and he felt it wrap around his hand, firm grasp pulling him from the abyss. Light and color rushed back in, the darkness fading away as the warmth wrapped him in its gentle embrace.

He blinked, the blurry surroundings of _the Defender_ ’s medbay slowly coming into focus as a weary freckled face filled his vision. Her blue eyes were fever bright, her face drawn and gray, but the smile that graced him lit up the whole room.

“Thank the Force.” Grey’s voice was barely a whisper, almost as if she had been speaking for days. Her hand was warm in his, her fingers wrapped around him tightly as if she was afraid he might slip away. “Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again.”

“What…” He trailed off, not sure what the last part of that question should be. The haze and fugue that had chased him for days seemed to be lifting away, leaving a bone-weary exhaustion in its wake. He gave the hand in his a tentative squeeze, feeling a wave of relief wash over him as he felt it returned in kind instead of crumbling away. That he was worried about that at all only added to his confusion.

The bright smile dimmed as Grey slid her eyes shut for a moment. The action didn’t completely hide the red and puffy quality to them, or the still slightly damp tracks glistening on her abnormally pale cheeks. Theron’s lingering confusion began to evaporate away, a spike of concern shooting through him. The rest of that question suddenly materialized.

“What—” his voice croaked, throat dry and parched, and he had to swallow a few times before he tried again, “—just happened?”


	6. Chapter 6

The ambient lighting in the medbay almost seemed too bright, and Theron found himself squinting as the Jedi in front of him let out a long, haggard breath. She gave his fingers a tight, almost bone breaking squeeze and seemed to slump a little in her perch next to the cot.

“You’re going to be okay now.” Relief and exhaustion dragged her statement down into a whisper. “Don’t worry.”

While that was very much a good thing, it didn’t explain the bizarre imagery that lingered at the back of Theron’s mind, nor why she looked quite so run down. A vague sense of unease began to creep in as she hastily scrubbed at the damp tracks on her cheeks.

“Were you crying?”

“No… yes. Sorry.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, taking in another shuddering breath. “It’s been a long few days.”

“Why?”

Her eyes fluttered open as she peered at him, tentatively resting her free hand on his forehead, as if checking something. It didn’t escape his notice that she hadn’t loosened her grip on his other hand. After a moment, she nodded to herself, some tension draining from her shoulders. “You were very sick for a while there.”

“Sick?” He had been injured, that much he was sure of. He couldn’t help but frown as he tried to sort through the confusing tangle of memories. Some were clearer than others, he could remember just about all of Skeressa (unfortunately), some of the medbay, and then there was a hazy mass of very dark, surreal, and confusing imagery. 

“The wound on your side was infected.” Her voice didn’t raise above the soft, raspy whisper. “Kolto should have handled it, but you kept getting worse.”

That _was_ odd. Even without a tank to be submerged in, there was enough kolto stocked in the medbay to handle just about everything short of decapitation. Kolto resistant infections were extremely rare, usually of a more viral nature than something picked up on a dirty warehouse floor.

“How much worse?”

Her eyes darted away again, but he’d seen the flash of pain, residual fear, and his concern heightened. Sitting up seemed like a monumental task at that moment, so he took the easier path, and folded his other hand over the one still clinging to him tightly. 

“For a moment I thought you were going to…” She trailed off, taking a moment to swallow before looking back at him. The dark circles under her eyes stood out in contrast to her pale face. “You’re a very lucky man.”

He swallowed, following the line of logic. Part of him felt like he should apologize, as nonsensical as that was. She just looked so tired, so worn. Like she was the one who had just come from death’s door, rather than him.

Theron let his gaze wander, eyes drifting down to the freshly applied kolto bandage. The skin around it looked smooth, no longer red and inflamed. Just like a properly healing wound. The ragged pain had dulled to a muted ache thanks to the kolto, and almost all of the fog clouding his thoughts seemed to have lifted.

In fact, everything seemed almost deceptively normal, if it wasn’t for the abnormally gray pallor of his caretaker.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

She took in a long breath, before letting it out very slowly, but when she looked at him again he could still see a fever burning brightly in her eyes. “I will be. Now.”

There was a finality to her tone, as if to indicate an end to that line of inquiry. The fatigue dragging him down made it tempting to indulge in that silent request. Another, more stubborn part of him wanted to push the subject, because something still felt very off. However seeing as he apparently had somehow survived the infection from hell, maybe that was to be expected. 

In the end, the infamous Shan stubbornness won out. “You don’t look okay.”

“We should be focusing on _you_ right now.”

He didn’t want to do that. That required thinking, trying to sort through the confusing snatches of memory and piece together a complete picture, and that just sounded exhausting. Not to mention he had never been keen to contemplate or even confront his own mortality. He had always just assumed he would go out in a blaze of glory doing something fantastic and worthy of the Shan name. Not curled up on a medical cot out in the middle of space as he wasted away to some preventable vestige of archaic medicine.

Except that he wasn’t dying now, at least according to the woman staring at him. So as much as he didn’t want to think, didn’t want to ask questions, one bubbled to the surface anyway. “If the kolto didn’t work… what happened exactly?”

It should have been an easy question to answer. From the way her lips pressed together to form a thin line and the silence between them stretched on, it was apparent that it was anything but simple.

The hard countenance finally broke but her smile was still tight, and she looked somewhere over his shoulder instead of directly at him when she spoke again. “The Force flows through everything, it’s what binds us together.”

The phrase was almost an exact mirror of one of Dirai’s rants, and Theron wasn’t able to stop himself from physically wincing. She caught his unconscious reaction, her forehead creasing into a frown as she gave his hand a firm squeeze as if in reassurance.

“I… heard something similar recently,” he admitted quietly.

“Dirai.” It was not a question but a statement, nearly a snarl. “From the nature of the rumors I heard, I suspect he had different… ‘talents’ with the Force than most.”

“He was _insane_.”

“His mastery of the Dark Side was not in any way diminished by his grip on reality.” She gave him a serious look. “The Force is part of every living thing—each with its own unique signature. It is not meant to be bent, not to be twisted into anyone’s will. What he and his followers practiced—it’s not natural.”

It was also irrelevant. Theron had heard the same rumors as her, and they didn’t have anything to do with the subject at hand. “Trust me, I was there. I wasn’t anything more than a punching bag and occasional pin cushion. Not even a good one as Dirai had to keep healing me half the time. Mostly, I was just _bait_.”

He spat the last word, the familiar slow burn of anger and self-recrimination rising back up. That she had come away from that encounter relatively unscathed didn’t chase away that ugly feeling still bubbling inside of him.

“Theron,” the graveness in her tone pulled his focus back to the present, and he looked to see her staring at him intently, “he wasn’t _healing_ you.”

His time in captivity came rushing back, and Theron felt a queasy sensation when he remembered the odd, sickening “healing” sessions after each interrogation. The blinding, burning pain in his side that had never gone away. The unnatural, slow trickle of blood that never quite stemmed over the duration of his captivity.

Oh. 

Oh _crap_.

He sucked in a quick breath, and felt her squeeze his hand again, trying to comfort him. “What the hell did that sick bastard do to me?”

“I don’t know exactly.” Her words were quiet. “Your presence in the Force was… wrong. Twisted. It was still you, but like something dark and foreign had taken hold. Like you had been bound in more ways than one.”

“But I’m not…”

“The Force flows through everything, Theron, even _you_.” Her smile was sad, tired. “I can’t claim to understand the purpose behind his twisted experiments. What he hoped to accomplish beyond causing suffering for suffering’s sake.”

 _This connection you share with the host, how deep does it run?_ The memory of the malevolent whisper sent a chill down his spine. _Can they feel your pain?_

It had just been mad jabberings, none of that nonsense about the Force and bonds was true. If there was a kernel of truth in each of his ravings, then that meant anything he said couldn’t be dismissed outright. Theron didn’t want to contemplate the darker ramifications of that, as he was far too bone-weary and tired to try and unravel those rantings. He could mention them to her, maybe get her perspective since she knew more about this sort of thing than him, but she looked just as worn out as he felt. Like she hadn’t slept in the past week.

It was very possible she hadn’t.

“How long was I out?”

“A day… two? Our shortcut took us far off the beaten path. Too far to get you to a medcenter.” Her eyes darted away and she muttered, almost under her breath. “Not that it would have helped anyway.”

He found himself frowning. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She still didn’t quite meet his eye, as she shrugged one shoulder. “A doctor can stitch a wound, Theron, but it takes a healer gifted with the Force to mend that sort of damage.”

That… really didn’t sound good. He watched as she continued to avoid meeting his eye directly, and a sickening sensation started to bubble up in his gut as he stared at that unnatural, almost gray complexion of hers. “But you said I was going to be okay…”

“You are, don’t worry.”

As she shifted uncomfortably, that nauseous sensation morphed into something akin to dread, cold and hard like someone was tightening a vice around his chest. _She_ wasn’t a healer, and as a Jedi didn’t have the deep knowledge of twisted Dark Side rituals like Dirai. But someone _else_ in the room did.

“What did you do?” The question didn’t come out as a shout, just a hoarse plea. 

Even if she refused to look at him, he could still read her face like an open book, and this volume was littered with something akin to guilt and shame. Unconsciously his grip on her hand tightened, and she made to pull away. He held onto it, clinging like a lifeline, not allowing her to withdraw from him any more.

“Stop,” she said quietly, “just let it go.”

“No.”

“Theron, please—”

“You didn’t…” He had thought all of his anger and fear had been burned out by the fever, but apparently he still always had a little fire burning somewhere inside of him. “After all of this, everything that bastard did, you _better_ tell me you didn’t give in to that snake—”

“Valkorion wouldn’t help!” she snapped, pulling her hand free with a quick jerk. “He said I should just let you die! That it’s what you deserved for meddling with things you didn’t understand.”

“I wasn’t meddling with anything.”

“We’re not _stupid_ , Theron!” Pink rushed to her cheeks, the color standing out brightly against the gray pallor.

“ _We_? Are you two suddenly buddies now?”

“No! Of course not! How can you even ask that?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on here!”

There was a flash of color at the door, as if the third, almost forgotten (corporeal) passenger of their vessel had been summoned by the commotion, but had very quickly and wisely decided to be literally anywhere else on the ship. If only Theron had that luxury.

“You want to know? Fine! He knew what you were up to on Skeressa even before you told me. Or _didn’t_ tell me. What do you think he was droning on about earlier?”

“You could have _told_ me that—”

“I was more concerned with trying to keep you alive!” Grey fixed him with a look. “Apparently I’m the only one in this room who has that as a valid concern!”

“That’s _not_ fair. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen—do you think I just walked up to the crazy blood-letting cultist and let myself get captured? Do you think I _wanted_ you to be lured into that hell? Or that I wasn’t trying to escape every damn minute?”

“No, I…” She crumpled then. The anger, the fear, and what little color brought on by all of it drained out as she hid her face in her hands. “I didn’t mean that.”

He wanted to bury himself in that righteous anger, the flare of temper that had never quite been tempered despite all of Ngani Zho’s training or the SIS’s practicality. But something had a far stronger pull on him, and it surged past the heat of anger as she folded in on herself. It pushed past even the bone weary ache that had taken up residence in him, as he found some reserve to push himself into a half sitting position. He ignored the muted ache in his side trying to roar back up as the movement jostled it, one hand reaching out to brush against her knuckles.

“Don’t… I’m sorry.” Unfortunately while it gave him strength, it still didn’t give him complete sentences. “I didn’t mean it either. I just…”

He wasn’t sure how to finish that, because he was a lot of things. Confused. Angry. Scared. None of which he liked being, because each of them robbed him of some measure of control.  Which was laughable in a way, because here they both were obviously careening wildly off anything resembling that.

“You were _dying_ , Theron,” her voice cracked, “I had to do something.”

“Not _that_.” Anything but letting that monster win. “I’m not worth—”

She stiffened, dropping her hands so she could spear him with the most severe expression he’d ever seen her direct his way. When she spoke, her voice still shook with emotion, but there was undercurrent of steel backing it. “If I am worthy of what you went through, then you are worth sacrifice in equal measure.”

Theron swallowed, all of the obvious, logical arguments against that flashing through his mind. The fact that the Alliance, the galaxy, needed her at the helm. Needed her to inspire everyone around them. _Her_ , not the manipulative spirit walking in her shadow. That if Valkorion regained a physical form, he would likely enact the horror of Ziost upon the galaxy at large. The life of one spy wasn’t worth risking any of that. Those were all _very_ important reasons, and he did care about them. But he was also selfish, and the reason that rose to the surface had nothing to do with the greater good.

“I can’t…” The words tried to get stuck in his throat again, but he pressed on, forcing them past the lump that had risen up. “I’ve already seen what this galaxy is like without you. Don’t make me do that again.”

“I am but one person. The galaxy can—”

“ _No_ ,” the dry rasp in his voice made his words hoarse, but they didn’t take out the force behind his shout, “don’t make me do it without _you_. Not again.”

The hard expression softened, and she leaned across the distance separating them, gingerly cupping his face with a hand. “I am still _here_ , Theron.”

He almost asked for how long, but he stopped himself, forcing himself to swallow those words. It wasn’t a fair question and he knew that. Even if some traitorous part of his brain whispered some variation on it at least once a day. Instead he rested his palm on top of the one cupping his cheek, and met her gaze, searching for any sign of the demon that lurked within.

She was the only one looking back at him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I just… _hate_ that he’s doing this to you. Again.”

“Me too,” her words were just as quiet.

“And I promised… I _promised_ you—”

She cut him off with a kiss, lips pressing against his firmly. They were both too drained for it to have any fire or promise of anything more. It was just a desperate need for connection, reassurance that they were both still here, at least for now. His hand slid up, tangling in her hair while the other slipped around her awkwardly, trying to pull her onto the cot with him. She shook her head, but he gave another insistent tug.

“That’s not what I intended… you need to rest.”

“I will. Just… stay?”

“This isn’t appropriate.” The words sounded more like they were meant for herself if the conflicted look on her face was anything to go by.

“I don’t care.”

“You’re still healing,” she said hesitantly, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he looked at her earnestly. “I just… need to hold you for a bit.”

“Why?”

“I…” In his mind’s eye he saw her crumbling away from his touch, and swallowed hard. “I need to feel that you’re real.”

It sounded more desperate than he wanted, but now that he had her this close, the thought of her pulling back away filled him with a numb sense of panic. It was stupid, he knew that, but that kind of logic still didn’t have him loosening his grip on her. Her brows knitted together in concern, and briefly ran her fingers over his forehead as if to double-check her earlier prognosis was correct.

“Please?” he asked quietly.

Her resolve crumbled and she nodded and awkwardly shifted her position as he gingerly made room for her on the large cot. Though healing now, the jostling of the wound on his side had him biting down on his lip to control his reaction. She thankfully missed most of that, and by the time her head was pillowed next to him on the cot, he had managed to get it settled back down to a dull muted ache.

This close, there was no mistaking the ashen tone to her skin, or the way that her eyes glittered with the heat of a fever, or possibly something a little more sinister than just that. Despite that, the familiar light that was recognizably her shone through, dulled as it was by whatever had taken hold. His fingers lightly traced her jaw line, unable to completely smother his lingering concern.

“I’m sorry I yelled earlier,” she murmured.

“Me too.” He let out a long breath, weighing his next words carefully. “I just got scared. That all of this—that _I_ —pushed you into making an impossible decision.”

“It would still be _my_ decision to make.” Even as she dropped his gaze, her fingers tangled with his. “Your heart was in the right place, Theron… it just drowned out your logic.”

“I know.” He swallowed hard. “Not the first time that’s happened.”

Her lips twitched up into a sad smile, and used their entwined fingers to rest over his chest. “I’m not saying to ignore it… it’s your best feature.”

He could feel himself returning the half-smile with one of his own. “Not my hair?”

“I like that too,” she said indulgently, “but I like your heart better.”

Sometimes, she knew both exactly what to say to take him off guard while also making him want to roll his eyes. She could be just so charmingly sincere that he never quite had the proper response ready at the tip of his tongue. He shook his head softly at her, and found himself pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Even with just the quick brush of his lips, he could feel the heat radiating off it, and couldn’t stop his frown. “You’re not okay, are you?”

“Not exactly.” Her eyes drifted shut, throat bobbing as she swallowed a few times. “Whatever Dirai did… his corruption seemed to be concentrated on the wound on your side, but it had spread, almost like an infection.”

Theron didn’t say anything, afraid that if he did then she might clam up again. So he just waited, letting his hand absently drift up and down her arm. The action was soothing, even if the skin under his fingers was much warmer than it should have been.

“I didn’t know how to heal it, how to cleanse it,” she said quietly, “and Guss’s studies have really only begun. This situation was far beyond anything he’s prepared to deal with.”

“And Valkorion?” He asked it quietly, without a hint of accusation this time.

“He didn’t offer his help.”

She chewed on her lip for a moment, hesitating, as if she wasn’t sure how to put to words what she needed to say. It was difficult for Theron to be patient, especially with the unease prickling at the base of his spine. He continued to stroke her arm absently, almost as a way to ground himself as he waited.

“Your body already had enough to deal with physically from your ordeal,” she said finally, “and that corruption just kept spreading… so if I couldn’t get rid of it, I did the next best thing.”

The prickles of unease began to slowly climb up his spine. “What was ‘the next best thing’?”

“It wanted a host to infect,” she said quietly, “so I gave it a new one.”

That unease migrated from his spine, settling into his chest as his next breath hitched and he stared at her in horror. “You did _what_?”

“Funny, that was Valkorion’s reaction too.” Her mouth curved up into the beginnings of a smirk. “Although I believe his concern was a little more self-centered. He doesn’t like sharing.”

“No,” Theron whispered hoarsely, fingers digging into her arm unconsciously, “that’s not… please tell me you’re joking.”

“I was running out of options and time,” she said quietly, “and I was not going to let you die without doing everything in my power to stop it.”

“So I’m just supposed to watch you die in my place?” His voice was raising again. He didn’t particularly care.

“I’m not going to die.” She met his panicked gaze, the fever shining brightly in her eyes. “He may not have wanted to help _you_ , but I am another matter entirely. Valkorion has already shown that he will bring this body back from the brink of death. If he wishes to hang around uninvited, then he must earn his keep.”

“That’s insane.” The vice around Theron’s chest continued to tighten, making it difficult to breathe. “You can’t gamble—”

“It is already done,” she said firmly. “It is… uncomfortable, but I am healthy and able to fight it. I believe he doing so as well, as he has been quiet ever since I finished pulling Dirai’s corruption out of you. An imperfect solution, but we work with what we are given.”

Of all the reckless, boneheaded, idiotic risks, this was probably one of the biggest ones he’d seen her take. He was acutely aware of the irony of it, but was too incoherent with umbrage to properly express his feelings on the matter.

“I know you are angry with me,” she continued on, “just as I am with you for risking your life as you did.”

“You’re damn right I am!” he finally sputtered. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” Her eyes shut, trying to suppress a wince as a shudder rolled through her.

His anger bled away, the tight grip on her arm shifting until it wrapped around her back and she was gently cradled in his arms. “Are you all right?”

Grey pressed her lips together for a long moment, fingers tightening around him, before she cracked her eyes open again. “Any discomfort is temporary. Do not worry.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“I suppose so.” She let out a small sigh. “I apologize for that, I don’t mean to cause you any undue distress.”

They were both a mess, that much was clear. It was probably the will of the Force that Theron had wound up with someone so irritatingly stubborn and rash as him, willing to take the stupidest and craziest risks to try and save the day. Or perhaps he was just rubbing off on her in more ways than he’d thought. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Her eyes crinkled up as she graced him with a wistful smile. “I know. You just wanted to help. Everything just kind of… escalated.”

“Story of my life.” He gave a wry, choked laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Somehow kriff things up ten ways from Taungsday without even trying. Imagine what kind of damage I could do if I put in effort.”

“We will both recover from this,” she assured him. “We just might have to spend some time in the medbay and with the Enclave’s healers when we get back home to do so.”

“I’m kind of preferring a hole to crawl in right now,” he mumbled.

“A bed is much more comfortable. Not to mention practical.”

“How can you joke about this?”

“I am _very_ tired,” she admitted, “it’s probably affecting my judgement some.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, “after everything, you’ve earned some rest.”

“We both have.”

“I’ve been sleeping for days.”

“Nothing about what you went through was restful,” she said gently.

“No,” he admitted quietly, the snatches of nightmare resurfacing, “but are _you_ going to be able sleep with all of that inside you?”

“I can try.” She looked away again, worrying her lip between her teeth. “I believe Valkorion is mitigating the worst of it.”

“Guess he’s good for _something_.”

“It is most certainly not his company.”

“You've got that right. He's the worst third wheel in the galaxy.”

“For the moment I believe we are alone. I have the impression that it is taking most of his power to fight the infection, and he does not have time to eavesdrop.” She glanced up at him, and there was the hint of a fear she wasn’t ready to give a name to. “Since he came back out of hiding, he has not made an offer of power like he was so used to doing before. I think he’s moved on from negotiating for control. I don’t know what he’s planning, but I have a bad feeling about it.”

That cold lump of dread settled again in his stomach, and Theron found himself being the one to give a reassuring squeeze to her. “Maybe he’s never had a plan.”

She smiled wanly and shook her head. “He has been around a long, long time. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

Theron wanted to offer some sort of platitude or reassurance that they would figure something out, find some way to extract that monster from her head before he had a chance to make his final move. Unfortunately he couldn’t do that truthfully, because he had been trying to do that for so long and just kept running into wall after wall. His opponent had nearly fifteen hundred years to come up with all sorts of contingency plans, not to mention erase records and knowledge of what he had done and how to undo it. It was possible that the solution to this was out of Theron’s hands, but accepting that felt akin to giving up. He might have screwed up, made a mistake about how he tried to handle this — but she of all people didn’t deserve this endless nightmare. And even if he didn’t have the answer on how to stop it, he couldn’t let her walk this path on her own.

“He already made his first mistake,” Theron said quietly, “he’ll make another one.”

“His first mistake?”

“Yeah.” Theron pulled her closer, until their noses were almost touching. “He picked the wrong Jedi to mess with.”

“I suppose he did,” she said quietly.

Her lips twitched into a half-smile as she stared at him in that way that always made his chest feel a little tight. The world around them faded away at the edges and time itself seem to slow — almost like he was catching a glimpse of eternity. Something beautiful, endless, and impossible to look away from.

Theron let himself get lost in the quiet moment. The feeling of her pressed in close mingled with her soft, rhythmic breaths puffing gently against him. Every sensation a small reinforcement of reality, rather than the nightmares that had plagued him. Drawing comfort in her presence and warmth, he slipped into his first peaceful slumber in days.


	7. Chapter 7

It was the scent of her close by that roused him.

Usually it was a faint clean smell of Trillium soap, a lingering scent of metal polish from the pristine maintenance of her lightsabers, combined with something fresh and sharp — almost like the fresh cut grass on an Alderaanian summer day. All of those were there, but the scent of the soap was hardly detectable, almost drowned out by the tang of sweat, grime, and the antiseptic and sterile smell of the medbay. The warmth of a body pressed close was almost enough to lull him back to sleep, but he found himself cracking his eyes open anyway.

The sight that greeted him was not an unwelcome one. A smaller lithe body was firmly snuggled into him, with her blond head pillowed on his arms. So close he could feel every exhale of the heavy breaths of deep sleep combined with the uncomfortable sensation of a thin line of drool dripping down from her mouth onto his bicep.

Approaching a year in to their time on Odessen, it was an increasingly familiar sight for him to wake up to, but one that had yet to lose its charm completely. Although he did find the image a bit more adorable when the drool was puddling on a pillow rather than his arm, but considering the circumstances, it was a small price to pay. He wasn’t sure the last time he had seen her resting quite so comfortable, certainly not since Valkorion had made his reappearance. That she was doing so now, despite the events of the past few days, lit a fire deep within his belly.

Her pallor had improved some since the last time he was awake, a hint of her normal color starting to surface beneath the unhealthy gray that had taken up residence. Apparently her prediction about Valkorion’s dedication to preserving the health of the body he had taken up residence in was proving accurate. A fact he was both comforted and still very disconcerted by. He hated that the monster that had nearly broken her once before was free to continue poking at her mind on a daily basis — but Theron couldn’t help but find the smallest bit of relief in the fact that there was a power out there beyond himself trying to keep her on this plane of existence. At least for now. 

Theron had no delusions that the evil presence that had devoured every soul on Ziost had suddenly turned over a new leaf out in the depths of Wild Space. Whatever the malevolent spirit was up to, it definitely didn’t have the best intentions in mind for the woman that was resting peacefully in his arms. Every single thing that Theron had been able to unearth about the Sith once known as Vitiate had led him to believe that every action taken was to further his own goals. That, combined with Dirai’s mad ramblings about the spirit’s future plans for his current host, had Theron forcing himself to keep from pulling her tighter into his embrace.

Ever since he had first set foot on Odessen, there had been an almost queer sense of belonging for the former spy. Prior to his time with the Alliance, the SIS had been the closest that he’d ever felt like he had been a part of something bigger than himself, like he had been making a difference in the galaxy at large. If he didn’t quite have the words for how that simple act of acceptance from the odd collection of individuals that made up the organization they were both now leading, then the definition for what he felt for the woman next to him eclipsed even that. He’d never had the normal family life growing up, but ever since he’d found himself drawn into her orbit, he’d finally found something that started to resemble that stability that had always eluded him his entire life. 

He was content to watch for now, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the slight twitch under her eyelids that let him know she was dreaming. Hopefully it was one of the more pleasant dreams, if her neutral expression was anything to go by. The nightmares hadn’t revisited him since she had performed whatever Force mojo to pull the dark corruption out of his body and into her — and so far, it looked like she had been spared that at least.

It was still beyond him how he’d gotten someone quite like her to fall for him, and was still waiting for the day when he would wake up to realize that all of this had been some elaborate, cruel dream his mind had conjured up. The fact that he kept waking up to this reality was still something he was trying to get used to, something he wasn’t sure he would ever quite be able to wrap his mind around. They were nearing the one year mark and the novelty had yet to wear off. Surely it would at some point and reality would set in. Every day that this stretched on, even if it wasn’t completely perfect in every way, leant some credence to the fact that maybe he’d found something nearing permanent. Or at least it would be, if they could find some way to wrest her free from the devil from inside of her.  

Theron wanted to give a name to the feeling that bubbled up inside him in quiet moments such as these. Sometimes the thought of saying it aloud made him break out in a cold sweat while a numb sense of panic gnawed from some part of him that he couldn’t quite shut out. Other times it felt like a giant weight hanging from his shoulders, and if he could just get out that innocuously simple phrase, maybe everything would feel lighter. And all of that was just his own baggage, before he even factored in their unwanted third wheel. The one they couldn’t show any weakness to lest he pounce on the opportunity to snatch her away for good.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she murmured quietly into his arm, words muffled.

“What?”

Grey’s eyes cracked open a slit, sleep still obviously weighing her down. One hand lightly ran up his chest as she gingerly shifted her position on the cot. “I can practically hear you brooding. Makes it hard to sleep.”

“I do not brood.”

“Yeah, right.” She let out a small huff of laughter, the cracked eyes sliding back shut. “Pull the other one.”

“I’m just quietly contemplating.”

“There’s nothing quiet about that frown.” She murmured, hand sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck. “You don’t have to say anything aloud for me to see that you’re worrying about something.”

“Your eyes are literally shut right now.”

“Would you believe me if I said I used the Force to tell?”

“No.”

“How will you ever know if you don’t believe?” She murmured softly, looking like she might fall back to sleep as she settled against his chest.

He let one of his hands drift down to her hip, softly tracing the curve of it with his palm. “I’m more of a tactile guy.”

Her lips twitched, obviously suppressing a smile. “You are at that.”

Theron decided to lean into the moment, curling around her as much as their cramped position on the cot would allow. He buried his face into hair, still soft and silky despite the fact that she likely hadn’t seen a shower in about as long as he had. As heavenly as getting clean sounded, it was hard to justify moving from his current position. For a long time they just lay like that, and he might have thought she’d fallen back asleep if it wasn’t for her fingers idly playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Did you have any dreams?” His question was nearly lost to the quiet, but he felt her still for a moment, before her fingers resumed their rhythmic motions.

“No,” she said softly, “at least none that I can remember. I suppose I should be grateful. I know yours were not very pleasant.”

“How?”

“You were quite delirious. I tried talking, but I don’t think you heard me.”

“I don’t know… it’s all fuzzy.” Snatches of the nightmares came back, and he tightened his hold ever so slightly. “But I think maybe I did? A little at least.”

Pulled in so close, he couldn’t actually see her smile, but he felt the soft exhale of her breath on his chest, and felt her cheek twitch upwards where it was pressed against him. “I am glad.”

That strange warmth that only she could bring filled his chest, and he found himself speaking without even really realizing it. “You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

“Theron…”

“No, you are,” he continued, quietly, “what you did, I… how can I even begin to repay—”

“We are partners,” she said firmly, pushing against his chest until there was enough distance to catch his eye, “and we do not keep a tally on such things.”

“Probably for the best. Pretty sure I’d never catch up at this rate.”

“You are too hard on yourself.”

“Am I? How are you feeling right now?”

“I am,” she hesitated for a moment, “okay. It is nothing to worry about.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m incapable of that at this point,” he shot back. “This is _my_ fault, I should be the one dealing with the fallout of that. Not you.”

“This is not all your fault, Theron. Please do not beat yourself up over it.”

“Pretty sure I skipped that day in SIS training.”

“I am not blameless either.” Her fingers twitched against his neck, tugging lightly at the hairs she had woven her fingers through. “I know I have been… distant lately.”

“Don’t take that on too.” He leveled her with a serious look. “I was the one who screwed up here. All of this is on me.”

“Your decision to go to Skeressa to try and find a way to help me was your own, yes. But why did you feel compelled to make it?”

He pressed his lips together tightly, looking away. His reasoning for this sidetrip into hell was a jumble of everything that had been building up, and at this point he wasn’t really sure where one excuse began and another ended. But each one had a common thread, and they all led back to the unwanted presence in her head. The one who had been conspicuously silent ever since Theron had woken up from his nightmares.

Out of habit, he loosened his tight hold on her so he could start slowly tracing the shell of his ear — their private little signal — but she seized his hand, stopping him before he could finish the motion.

“No,” she said firmly, “don’t.”

“But he’ll hear—”

“I don’t care.” Her eyes began to shimmer and she clamped them shut, trying to shove the emotion away. “I had time to think, Theron. I had nothing _but_ that while you were slipping away.”

“I know, and I’m sorry—”

“No, you _don’t_ know,” she insisted, “because I stopped talking. Ever since _he_ came back, I’ve been so focused on trying to put up this front so he could not see any weakness to exploit.”

“Stars, I know that.” Even if it felt like a kick to the gut sometimes being cut out, he wouldn’t deny her any means to deal with that daily torture. “I understand why too.”

“Was it fair for me to ask that of you?”

“You never have to _ask_ ,” he insisted.

“As romantic as that is, it’s not very practical,” she whispered. “Did you feel like you were free to bring any concerns to me? Or did you feel like you too had to hide things for fear of him listening?”

“I…” He was glad that she wasn’t looking at him right now, because he was pretty sure that his face was showing how close she was hitting with that question. “I just want to help. And would never ask you to do anything to risk giving him control. I know what that monster did to you.”

“But am I not still hiding if I do that?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one he wanted to say aloud.

“In trying to put up an invincible front and pushing away those that matter the most, am I not just letting fear of what he _might_ do with that information isolate me? Am I not just letting him dictate my actions in a different way?” The shimmer gathered on her lashes, the collected moisture threatening to spill over on her cheeks.

Theron couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, brushing the unshed tears away. “What are you saying?”

She opened her eyes, still watery with intense emotion, but she graced him with a confident and bright smile that he had not seen in what felt like an eternity. “I refuse to let that monster control me any more.”

A fresh burst of pride swelled up in Theron’s chest, filling him until it almost felt like he might burst. He couldn’t stop himself as he surged forward, capturing her lips in a deep, heartfelt kiss that he hoped could express one-tenth of the emotions surging through him. Her fingers tangled further in his hair as she pulled him in, eagerly, almost clumsily, returning the action in kind. They were both nearly breathless, but unmistakably grinning by the time they came up for air, noses bumping as they tried to settle back into place.

His thumb brushed across her cheek, still slightly warm to the touch, but noticeably cooler and full of more color than earlier. Theron didn’t care if he looked like the biggest dope in the world, he couldn’t stop himself from marveling in wonder at the reappearance of the woman who he’d almost thought gone. “That’s my girl.”

Somehow that just made her beam brighter, although he wasn’t sure how it was possible.

And beyond that smile, he could see a much deeper, nearly unquantifiable emotion shining in her eyes. Something that made his throat constrict a little as three small words tried to bubble up from his chest.  It seemed like maybe this was a proper moment to actually give voice to them, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem to work them past the lump in his throat.

She seemed to sense his struggle, as the bright smile faded to something gentle and knowing, her breath catching a little. Sometimes he wondered if she could read his emotions through the Force, or if he had just gotten that bad at hiding his true feelings where she was concerned. It probably didn’t matter either way, as this wasn’t something he wanted to hold back on anymore.

“I…”

He trailed off as she looked at him expectantly, possibly even suspecting what the rest of that sentence was supposed to be. It should have been easy to finish, but it seemed like his tongue had grown thick again, his chest feeling suddenly tight as panic closed around him like a vice. Theron Shan had faced down countless horrors, routinely laughed in the face of danger, but when suddenly freed to utter three simple words he found himself frozen in terror.

Not to be deterred, he tried again, but he couldn’t even get the first word to form. The phrase was so innocuous when he’d heard other people utter it, usually in holos or in passing, but try as he might, he couldn’t get his tongue to wrap around it. He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, the feelings of warmth and joy chased away by the bitterness of self loathing.

Damn it. How was he so bad at this?

Her expectant look faded, but the smile didn’t as her fingers untangled themselves from his hair so they could gently cup his cheek. He reluctantly cracked his eyes open, wishing he didn’t look so miserable for being unable to give voice to torrent of emotions rushing through him.

“You can tell me anything,” she whispered, “but only if you want to. And it’s always all right if you don’t.”

But he _wanted_ to, that was the problem. He’d wanted to for a very long time, and he’d thought that the biggest obstacle in the way of that was their third wheel using that against her. Her bold declaration had removed that roadblock, and with it, his last excuse to cling to. There was only one thing preventing him from saying it now — the same thing that had always been. Like everything in his life, Theron's biggest problems were somehow of his own creation.

“I do,” he finally choked out, “I just… what I mean is… I want to. It’s not _you_ , but I… I’m not _good_ at this part.”

She silenced him with a gentle peck to his lips. “You’re better than you think.”

It was a nice gesture for his ego, but that had never needed any pampering. Unfortunately the moment had passed, chased away by his embarrassing fumbling. Maybe if he just changed the subject, the awkwardness he’d brought on would fade without any further comment.

“I stink.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Theron, that’s a bit of an overreaction.”

“No, I mean I _smell_. I definitely wouldn’t say no to a shower.”

If she was disappointed in his obvious redirection, she didn’t show it. “Don’t you think you should attempt just standing and walking first?”

“Why crawl when you can run?”

“No running,” she said firmly.

“You could always join me in there.”

“Are you saying I stink?”

“Never. At least not to your face.”

“I’m not sure if I should feel insulted.”

“Hey, I’m just saying if you’re worried, you could always join me — make sure I don’t try anything too _strenuous_.”

“You’re incorrigible.” She rolled her eyes. “And my refresher is all the way on the other side of the ship. Unless you want to chance Guss walking in.”

“Fine, you win. We’ll just stink for a little while longer.”

“Small victories,” she muttered sarcastically. “But we probably should change your bandage before anything else.”

“Probably,” he admitted somewhat reluctantly, “although that does require moving.”

“I’ll move,” she protested, “in a second.”

He let his hand drift up and down her back, the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin material of her undershirt. “No need to rush on my account.”

“Theron…”

“Hmm?”

“You’re going to put me back to sleep if you keep that up.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“I should be taking care of you,” she mumbled, “not napping.”

“It can wait a little longer.”

His fingers drifted under the thin material of the shirt, gently kneading the taught muscles of her back. The feeble protests seemed to die away as she leaned into the motion, eyes drifting shut. It was a testament to how exhausted she was that she didn’t try to keep up her typical veneer of propriety. He was used to gently cajoling her a little more before the half-hearted protests dried up.

Her natural tendency to try and take care of everyone around her sometimes drowned out her own needs. That was where Theron usually had to step in. He might still have been tired and sore from his own ordeal, but he was more than happy to do his part to take care of his girl. Even if that was as simple as convincing her to take a well-earned rest.

Her breathing had just started to even out, when a sudden shout from the door had them both nearly jumping out of their skin.

“Commander, I know you said not to disturb—oh, is this some sort of new Force healing technique?”

Grey’s cheeks flamed bright red as she buried her face deep into Theron’s chest, unable to completely muffle her embarrassed groan. From his position on the cot, Theron could just catch Guss’s eye, and gave the Mon Calamari a withering glare that was promptly ignored.

“It seems very complicated if you ask me,” Guss continued on. “Don’t you think kolto would work better?”

Theron dropped his voice low to a conspiratorial whisper. “You give me back my blasters and I’ll shoot him for you.”

“Don’t you dare.” Her protest was muffled by the fact that she was still hiding her face in his chest.

“Not even a tiny blaster bolt?”

“No.” 

She let out a heavy sigh before reluctantly pulling herself out of his embrace and struggled to sit upright.

“I’m sorry, Guss,” she said tiredly, “what was it that you needed?”

“Darth Eyeliner is on the holo waiting for an update.”

“Lana better not hear you calling her that,” Grey cautioned.

Theron couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow at the moniker, unable to completely smother his mirth despite his lingering annoyance at the rude intrusion.

“She can’t Force Choke me over the holo.”

“ _Guss_.” She gave him a stern look. 

“Fine, fine. I can tell _Lord Beniko_ you’ll call her back.” The last bit he muttered under his breath. “Again.”

“No, I can talk to her.” She scrubbed a tired hand across her face. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

The Mon Cal looked skeptical, but reluctantly trudged back out towards the common area where _the Defender_ ’s main holo-comm lived. It was unclear if that was because of his teacher’s fatigue and shortness with him, or possibly just having to deal with an impatient Lana Beniko. Not that Theron blamed him on the latter part. When Lana reached the end of her patience, it was generally a good idea to find somewhere else to be. Not that he had extensive experience on that particular subject.

Grey took in several deep breaths to steady herself and gather her strength. Theron gently grasped her hand, feeling her stiffen for a moment before she relaxed again.

“You okay?”

She nodded. “Just a little tired.”

“You can call her back later.”

“She’s just worried,” Grey said quietly. “Last time we spoke, things weren’t… it wasn’t good. I should let her know everything is okay now.”

That seemed like a bit of a stretch of the truth, but they were probably closer to it than the last time the two had spoken. In her current state, the Jedi would probably raise a few concerns, or at the very least a few eyebrows. Almost half of her hair had fallen from the normally perfect ponytail, and several more stray hairs poked out from the leatheris wrap that usually held it all in place. Had he not been still on the mend, the sight might have lit a fire of completely different type inside of Theron.

As it was, he found himself giving her hand a soft squeeze, gaining a curious look.

“I just want you to know that I…” His throat still felt a little tight, so he swallowed, trying to force something— _anything_ —out in the vicinity of what he wanted to say. “I’m glad it was you who came for me. You’re always there for me and… that means a lot.”

Her lips twitched up into the ghost of a smile.

“ _You_ mean a lot to me.” His voice sounded a bit hoarse, but he forced himself to continue on before they dried up again. “Hells… do you know what I’m trying to say?”

The words might not quite have been right, still clumsy and awkward as it always was for him when it came to this sort of thing. But at least the sentiment was there. And she’d heard it. 

“I know.” She dipped down, lips brushing against his forehead. “And I feel the same.”

In the end, that was all that really mattered.


End file.
